The Amour
by silverXserpent
Summary: It's a war of libidos at Hogwarts, and Harry's struggling through his sixth year with his limbs being tug-a-war-ed from both sides. Malfoy somehow manages to convince Harry he's gay, making matters both better and worse. HPDM.
1. Once Upon A Time

* * *

**- The Amour -  
**_Special Edition Rewrite  
_  
**Prequel To  
**_The Amourette  
_  
**Warnings  
**_Slash, slash, and slash.  
_Harry/Draco (main)  
Harry/Seamus, Harry/Cho, Draco/Blaise

**Disclaimer  
**_I don't own noffink._

**Beta  
**_Let us, my friends, take a moment to thank the great Messiah for beta-ing this story. __  
_

* * *

**• Chapter One •  
**_Once Upon a Time_**  
**

** H**arry Potter wasn't really the type of person you'd say was a witty-dashing-celebrity-bloke-with-lots-of-money-and-an-armful-of-slutty-girlfriends. Yes, he was a celebrity of some sorts, and he had a mountain of gold vaulted thousands of feet under London, but on the other hand, he didn't have an armful of sluttish girlfriends. His self-image had a lot to do with it, most supposed, because he never strutted around the school like Draco Malfoy, he never yakked on about his fortune, like Draco Malfoy, and he wasn't anywhere _near _as stuffy and confident as Draco Malfoy.

No, Harry Potter was selfless, shy, reserved, and good to the bone. Most of the time, his humility served him well. For example, the ability to avoid many a professor's scolding whenever he was dozing off in class or whispering when he wasn't supposed to. Or, the worship of the house elves who worked in the kitchens, which provided him with enough chocolate cakes and cherry pies to last a lifetime.

But, what if, at times, such qualities turn against you, and betray you to things that become your worst fears? A pain beyond anything physical, a pain that cuts fine and deep into the most fragile molds of your heart?

Perhaps this story is one with a very important moral. And the moral would be like this...

-

Once Upon A Time wasn't how Harry's day began regularly. There was never a Once Upon A Time, and he was convinced there never would be. Once Upon A Time signified a life where everything was a perfectly wondrous fairytale, and Harry would be damned if he'd ever felt cheerful in the morning even once in his sixteen years. He would have snorted sarcastically if Trelawney had Divined he would have a spectacular day on Saturday, the twenty-first of November. Then again, anything that came out of her mouth was rubbish and he wouldn't have taken heed of it anyway, but that was beside the point.

Saturday, the twenty-first of November was bound to be another lousy day; he had no doubt about it.

The first catastrophe appeared during breakfast, not thirty minutes into the morning. He was eating porridge, and talking with Ron and Hermione about visiting Hogsmeade later that day, when out of nowhere, an envelope fell with a splatter into his goblet, spraying him nicely with a thick sheet of pumpkin juice.

Ron promptly burst out laughing, chunks of potato flying from his mouth, and Hermione's mouth was twitching and, although she handed him her napkin, she had a slightly amused look. Harry sputtered and wiped at his glasses furiously with his shirt, cursing the brown owl silently as it screeched and circled above his head, it then took off back toward the open window across the Great Hall.

"Cool look, Harry," Dean whistled from his left, giving a thumbs up.

"Yeah, very _wet,_" added Seamus with a wink, causing Harry to blush angrily, while he snatched the soggy envelope from the pool of juice that was left inside his goblet.

Hermione cast a reproving look at Dean and Seamus before leaning forward over the table, craning her neck. "Who's it from?"

"Is it Hagrid?" Ron asked, turning his head to read the front of the envelope.

Harry, feeling rather curious himself, quickly opened it and unfolded the sheet of parchment within.  
_  
_

_ Dear Harry,  
__  
I feel terribly awkward with writing such a sudden letter to you, and I've been arguing with myself for weeks now, whether I should or shouldn't do this. But really, if I'm true to myself, I know I need this more than I need my ego. And besides that, I owe you an apology. I really do._

_I want to apologize for the way I've been acting this past year and a half. I've been unbelievably selfish, ignorant, and completely inconsiderate of you. I wouldn't blame you if you hated me by now, as if I were you, I would probably hate myself too. I hate myself even now, for not having the courage to do what was right._

_Ever since Cedric's death, I've been wallowing in my own self-pity and convincing myself that I was never going to be happy again. And I truly felt that way for the longest time. To have someone you love torn away from you without so much as a goodbye is a feeling I will never forget, no matter what I do to distract myself. I was so sure that I was the only one in this school that could ever feel so hurt, and that no one would understand me, despite people doing their hardest to comfort me._

_I saw how wrong I was when I heard about your fight with You-Know-Who last summer. I felt so awful. I hadn't even gone with you, when the least I could have done was help you. I couldn't look at you the day after you came back even though I wanted to talk to you so badly, and apologize to you for not being there to fight alongside you. I was afraid that if I faced you, I wouldn't be able to stop crying._

_You've also lost someone who was really close to you, but you haven't drowned yourself in your sorrows like I have, and I respect you for that, more than you'll ever know. You are strong, and kind, and brave. I'm weak and useless. I know I don't deserve anything from you, but I wish that you'd forgive me for my stupidity and give me another chance. I really want to make it up to you, Harry._

_Maybe we can talk later today, just the two of us at Hogsmeade or something? I'll understand if you refuse, but I hope you won't._

_Please reply ASAP._

_Lots of love,  
Cho_

Harry blinked, and he stared stupidly at the parchment in his hands. He blinked again. His mind was completely blank as he sat there, his mouth hanging slack and feeling more stunned then if he'd been hit with a stupefying hex.

He couldn't have possibly read what he'd thought he'd just read ….. could he? It must be his imagination, his hopeful mind conjuring up notions that could never and would never happen, no matter how much he wanted them. Really, the letter must have said something along the lines of, 'I hate you, you're an arsehole, never talk to me again' and his mind was playing tricks on him.

He clamped his eyes shut and shook his head violently, willing it to quit using Voodoo on his sanity. He didn't need any more trouble then he already had to deal with.

"What are you trying to do? Snap you neck in two?"

Harry's eyes shot open and he found Ron frowning and looking at him strangely. Hermione had a curious look too. They'd both stopped midway in their eating to stare at him.

"So who is it from?" Hermione asked impatiently. "It's rather long, isn't it?" A blush began to rise in Harry's cheeks as he felt the tips of his ears growing uncomfortably hot. Hastily he folded the letter haphazardly and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Er-" he stammered while running a nervous hand through his hair. "It's uh- from Lupin."

Hermione's brows knitted bewilderedly, "Professor Lupin? Really? Is something wrong?"

Ron's eyes were wide with fear and he leaned in, cupping his mouth. "Is the Order in trouble? Do they need us?"

Harry immediately regretted using Lupin as an excuse. Blushing even more feverishly, he lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Actually... it's not from Lupin," he admitted shamefully.

"It's not?" his two friends echoed in unison.

"Then who is it from?"

"Why did you lie?"

"Is it that bad?"

"What's wrong Harry?"

"You can tell us-"

Harry was sure he was redder than Ron's hair, and he rarely blushed much, he felt like sinking underneath the table in embarrassment. "It's..." he hesitated, and took a deep breath, not meeting either of their demanding gazes. "It's from Ch-Cho." His voice was barely a whisper, but they caught it nonetheless.

"Cho?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Cho Chang?" Hermione repeated, startled.

"SHHH!" Harry put his hands up frantically and glanced to either side of him, fearing the rest of the school had overheard. "_You don't have to shout it!_" he hissed.

"Oh. Sorry," Ron said, not looking sorry at all. He was actually looking rather miffed. "Why the bloody hell is _she_ writing to you?"

"Ronald -" Hermione reprimanded.

"But she's been a damn right bitch to Harry! He didn't deserve any of that crap she gave him!" Ron turned sharply to face Harry again. "What'd she want?"

Harry bit his lip and twiddled with his fork, his head scrunched onto his shoulders. "Erm -"

"She's not giving you a hard time is she?" Ron pressed on, his eyes narrowing. "Because I will go and tell her off if she is... dock a few points -"

Hermione made an annoyed face and crossed her arms, "You can't abuse your prefect privileges Ron. Points aren't to be taken away for personal matters, And you know that!"

"But if she's bothering Harry -"

"She's not," Harry blurted out, feeling nettled. "She's not, okay? So - so - let's just drop this."

Ron shot him a skeptic look, "She's not? Then what's she writing you for?"

Harry heaved a sigh, feeling defeated and uselessly stubborn for trying to hide it from his best friends in the first place. They'd somehow find out sooner or later, he was sure of it.

"She wrote me to... to apologize..." he said slowly, lowering his voice so that no one else could hear them.

"She's apologizing?" Hermione breathed, eyebrows rising in surprise. "Oh that's wonderful Harry! Good for you!"

"She's _apologizing_?" Ron scowled, in a tone much different from Hermione's. His was sour and full of suspicion. "A bit fishy isn't it? I mean, why is she _apologizing _to you all of the sudden? Maybe she's got something up her sleeve -"

Ron went quiet when Hermione shot him a cold glare and pursed her lips. "Why can't you just be happy for Harry? Why do you always have to be such a pessimist?"

"I'm not a pessimist!" Ron retorted indignantly.

"Then stop with this nonsense about Cho! You're being absolutely ridiculous!"

Ron's nostrils flared but he didn't respond. Instead, he looked back at Harry, and Harry sunk further into his seat. "What else did she say?"

"You don't have to tell us if you don't want to, Harry," Hermione intervened quickly. Harry heard a muffled thud, which was followed by the look of pain shooting across Ron's face.

"Bloody hell, that HURT!" he cried, grabbing his toe and cradling it in what looked like an awkward position. "What the hell was that for?"

"You deserved it," she answered coolly before finishing her last bit of porridge.

Harry stifled a slight smile at their antics before giving in. "Alright, I'll tell you guys, but don't tell anyone else, okay?" Ron immediately dropped his foot and leaned in. "She's asked me on a date to Hogsmeade today."

Hermione clapped her hands together delightedly and gave a little giggle that sounded very un-Hermione-ish. Ron, on the other hand, didn't look happy at all.

"But -" he protested. "We had plans to go to Hogsmeade together -" Harry blushed again, and glared daggers at Ron, as Seamus and Dean turned to stare.

Ron blushed even harder than Harry, when he realized what he'd just said. "I meant, " he glared at the two boys who were sniggering beside him. "_You_ were supposed to come with _us_ to Hogsmeade!" He jabbed his finger in emphasis at Hermione and himself.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, with a guilty and uncertain look on his face. Of course he'd promised them... but this was something he wouldn't give up. He wasn't _that_ stupid.

"I know Ron..." He bit his lip and poked at his cold bacon. "But - this is sort of important to me... you know? And I can always go with you guys the next Hogsmeade weekend!"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, while rolling her eyes. "Don't listen to Ron; he's being a downright prat. Of _course_ you can go with Cho. It's great to hear that she's thought things over."

"Yeah..." he absently replied, smiling foolishly and feeling suddenly very silly. And then he remembered something very important. "Oh! I forgot to reply to her! Dammit!" He was searching about hastily for a spare bit of parchment and a quill when he realized d he hadn't brought any as it was Saturday.

"Here, use mine." Hermione offered him a leaf of parchment with a smile, and her quill and ink bottle.

Harry smiled back and took them from her gratefully. "Thanks," he said, trying to ignore the scandalous glares he was getting from Ron.

"You're actually _going_?" Ron spluttered in disbelief.

"I suppose so," Harry answered, and began scribbling a quick reply, not caring that his hand was quavering slightly and his writing was even messier than usual.

"There, done!" he said after he finished, rolling up the parchment swiftly but then he stopped, suddenly very troubled. "Shoot, I don't have an owl... the one she sent is gone already -"

"Here, you can borrow Ruphus, Harry." Dean, having overheard the last half of their conversation (thanks to Ron), gave a shove to his dark brown owl, who'd been busy drinking from his goblet of juice. The owl pecked at Dean's hand angrily but obeyed hopped over to Harry and stuck out his leg.

"Ruphus?" Ron snorted. "What kind of name is Ruphus?"

"Named after Ruphus Brevett, a damn spanking good defender on the West Ham team!" Dean replied shirtily, drawing himself up. "You got a problem with that?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "You named him after a muggle football player? You're out of your tree, I tell you. Players that don't even move..." he muttered, shaking his head.

"They _move_, just not in the poster!"

Harry quickly tied his letter to Ruphus' leg and patted him on the wing. "Don't worry, I like your name," he whispered reassuringly. Ruphus hooted and nipped his finger lightly. "Could you take this to the black haired girl at the Ravenclaw table? Her name's Cho Chang."

Ruphus hooted again and then spreading his wings wide, took off up into the air impressively, cuffing Ron's head as he passed.

Ron looked very disgruntled.

With nervous eyes Harry watched as the owl soared across the Great Hall amongst many, above the Hufflepuff table and then swooping low toward the third table across, where Cho was sitting with her usual group of friends. Harry crossed his fingers, hoping that the other girls wouldn't notice and make a big unneeded fuss out of it. He was already embarrassed enough as it was.

He didn't even realized that he'd sucked his breath in and held it far longer then was wise as Cho started when the owl landed in front of her. and stuck out his leg The owl stuck out it's leg and she removed the letter before looking up quickly and catching Harry's eye, her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. She smiled, and Harry, scarlet again, smiled back lopsidedly.

Harry had only scribbled a few sentences, and so it was a mere second before Cho raised her head up to meet his gaze. Her smile widened and she nodded. Harry's heart skipped a beat.

Unbeknownst to Harry (as he was too preoccupied in staring at Cho and blushing like a tomato as she winked coyly at him) grey eyes were watching the exchange from across the hall, and they narrowed in disgust before averting just as Harry's eyes shifted in their direction.

Harry was too oblivious to notice anyway.

-

Twenty minutes later, after having changed into a clean shirt that wasn't lathered in sticky pumpkin juice, Harry dashed down the many staircases that connected the Gryffindor Tower to the ground floor. He was already five minutes late and cursed at himself for it. This was just the time to make a bad impression on Cho, and cause her to go back on her offer of friendship and in the process ruin everything that was almost too good to be true. He hadn't even had time to brush his hair, which would have been a lost cause anyways, since as he dodged through the crowded corridors, the wind of his passing caused it to stick up in all directions.

As he sprinted he tried to shrug into his winter cloak, and the effort of it all caused him to pant and turn red in the face as he skidded to a halt at  
foot of the main staircase in the entrance hall.

Cho was already there, but she hadn't spotted him yet. She was teetering precariously on her tiptoes, her hands clasped behind her back and her eyes roving over the swarm of students making their way out of the castle to Hogsmeade.

He hurried up to her, desperately attempting to flatten his hair and doing up his cloak clasp at the same time. "Hey Cho - sorry I'm late... had to go back to the Tower to change..." he stammered apologetically. He was relieved when Cho turned around and grinned.

"Oh -" she blushed. "No problem, I mean, I just got here too. I had to get my cloak and scarf."

Indeed, she was wearing a bright pink cloak and matching scarf that seemed a teensy bit_ too_ pink in Harry's eyes, but he imagined it could to be blamed on the light. They both paused for a moment, awkwardly not knowing what to say or do. Harry cleared his throat and nodded toward the door.

"Should - should we get going then?" Cho nodded back shyly and then hesitated before slowly looping her arm through Harry's. Harry was startled and he quickly looked down at his elbow, before glancing back at Cho who was watching him almost apprehensively, as if she were afraid he might reject her arm. Harry of course, did nothing of the sort. Instead he stuck the hand that was linked into his cloak pocket, which drew Cho closer and trying not to look stupid, grinned and began leading the way to the double doors amongst the steady stream of students.

It was snowing lightly outside, and the narrow gravel path that wound its way to the village was blanketed in a soft veil of white, as were the slopes and trees around them. They didn't talk much throughout the walk to Hogsmeade, and Harry was busy wondering if there was something he had to say or do at a certain time, or if there were things he oughtn't to do in certain situations, and a part of him was afraid that this date would end up like the last. The last date with Cho had been... a nightmare. Cho crying over Cedric, Roger Davies snogging his girlfriend only a few feet away, and then all that lace and ribbon that had distracted his train of thought as he _attempted_ to strike up an appropriate conversation with the girl.

This date, Harry would make sure that nothing went wrong. He wouldn't let it get ruined by something trivial because this was his last chance to prove to Cho that he was worth being around, and not immature for his age. Cho might be a year older than him, but that hardly mattered.

"So," he said cheerfully, when they were halfway there. The snow had begun to drift down heavier, and the cold air was beginning to seep through his layers of clothing. "Where do you want to go first?"

Cho shivered and brushed the snow off her eyelashes with her free gloved hand.

"The Three Broomsticks for something warm maybe?" she asked hopefully.

Harry felt relieved, he had been half afraid she would request they go to Madam Pudifoot's.

"Oh, sure," he nodded. "I could do with a butterbeer."_ This isn't so bad, after all_, a voice inside his head said proudly. He wasn't stumbling too much over his words, his nerves weren't getting the better of him, and he could think without feeling lightheaded. All of which were definitely an improvement.

So when they entered the gates of Hogsmeade, they made a beeline for the rather old pub along with a good half of the Hogwarts crowd, which entered with contented sighs as the warm air began to thaw their hands and ears. The room was crowded and every table appeared to be taken. The pub seemed impossibly full, but they were able to find one remaining table, which made Harry suspect strongly, that there was some sort of enchantment on the pub that provided just enough tables and chairs it's customers.

To his delight, the empty table he found was in the far corner of the pub, a spot hidden effectively away by a tall shrub. Cho went to claim the seats, while Harry made his way up to the front to order their drinks.

"Two butterbeers, please," he said to Madam Rosmerta who was laughing and looking fantastic as always, despite the chaos of business in the shop.

"Not three today, Harry dear?" She inquired with a knowing wink, setting two frothing mugs with a clunk onto the counter. Harry blushed and didn't reply, instead he just thanked her, paid for the drinks, and hurried back to the table, trying hard not to get jostled by the other occupants of the room.

He reached the table unharmed and slid Cho her drink, before climbing onto his own stool.

"Thanks," Cho said softly, with a timid smile. She lowered her gaze to her small, white hands that were clamped tightly around the mug, and Harry wondered why she looked so tense. Well, he was tense too, a bit nervous, a bit paranoid, a bit -

A single tear trickled down Cho's smooth cheek and Harry's mind stopped altogether. _Oh crap, oh dammit, not now! _**Please** not now! He pleaded silently, chewing on his lip. _What did I do wrong THIS time?_ But then, to his surprise, Cho gave a small choked laugh and hastily wiped away the tear with the back of her hand.

"Sorry," she said with a shake of her head. "I don't know why I'm crying. There's nothing to be crying about." Harry didn't know what to say. "I'm just really happy that you've decided to give me another chance, Harry. It means the world to me." She looked as if she really meant it and Harry couldn't help but notice that his heart was beating a little faster than was normal. He turned his mug in his jittery hands and tried to maintain a cool expression on his face. One of those jock-like looks that Cedric always wore.

"Uh, me too!" he tried rather lamely, and then wished he'd said something more eloquent. Maybe something really comforting and romantic. What was a guy supposed to do in a situation like this? He shifted his attention to his idle hand that was lying on the table before him. His last attempt had failed and made him look like a complete fool...

Taking a silent breath, he tentatively reached forward and laid his own hand atop Cho's. She blinked, staring back at him with a smile playing on her lips, "So you really forgive me? You don't hate me?"

"N-no," Harry stammered hastily, too eagerly. "I mean, no. Of - of course I don't hate you Cho. I don't hate you at all, and there's nothing to forgive -" he floundered around for the right words, but it was proving more difficult then he thought. "You've been through a lot, and I don't blame you for trying to separate yourself from other people... I felt the same way for a while too." And it was the truth. During the summer holidays, he'd as good as locked himself up from the rest of the wizarding world, ignoring all owls, the miserable attempts at telephone calls, and even promised himself that he would never return to Hogwarts the following year and threw his trunk out of his second floor window of Privet Drive during the night in a fit of pique. After that he'd sat in his bed for weeks, his room dark and not bothering to touch the food that Aunt Petunia provided for him, simply drowning into the shadows. He'd nearly been driven insane by the time Ron had appeared at his house with the rest of the Weasley family, shocked at his famished body and empty eyes.

The last of his summer had been spent at the Burrow, and during his stay there, he'd learned from his best friends that he would never be alone, so long as he had them. Even if Sirius never returned, they would always be there for him, and they would always love him like family just the way he loved them back. He'd felt as if they'd saved him from something worse then death; it was like getting his soul back and a will to live his life. With that he had picked himself up and pieced himself together once more.

And now, it was his turn to save another soul, to help another broken heart. Cho needed him, and he was ready to be there for her. "So don't be sorry, Cho," he said a little more confidently, giving her hand a soft squeeze. "We'll get through this together."

Cho's eyes flowed with tears and she threw her arms around his neck, sobbing, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Harry!" Harry went scarlet and awkwardly patted her on the back, grateful again that there were the shrubs to hide behind. When she finally did pull away, her lips were trembling and her face was shining with fresh tears, but this time she didn't look sad. Harry gulped at the realization that their noses were touching and they were so close that he could only see her large, brown eyes. There were so many emotions swirling in them, that he was almost dizzy in the head.

Then, Cho's eyelids fluttered close, her cheeks flushed, and Harry could feel her breath on his lips. He sat there suddenly frozen, panicked.

Right before their lips touched, a voice ripped through the air, too loudly and much too close. Harry jumped and immediately let go of Cho, elbowing his mug of butterbeer and splashing it onto the table.  
"Well, well. If it isn't Potty and Hosepipe - and goodness gracious, are you two _snogging_? In the middle of a pub?"

Harry snapped his head around, never having been so embarrassed in his life. Is motion brought him face to face with Draco Malfoy, who was closely flanked by his friends, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. All three were sneering and sniggering loudly enough for the whole pub to hear.

"Sod. Off. Malfoy," Harry seethed, steadying his voice and clenching his fists.

Malfoy snorted. "Oh please, you could at least be considerate of the rest of us and spare our poor eyes from such a repulsive scene."

Harry gritted his teeth and stood up from his stool, standing height to height with Malfoy.

"I said, _sod off_, Malfoy. Or are you too thick to know what that means?"

"Aw, is ickle potty-head threatening me?" Malfoy smirked, his eyes glinting maliciously.

"I might be, if you don't go bugger yourself and leave us alone," Harry replied coldly, narrowing his eyes.

Malfoy took a dangerous step closer, his voice a low hiss, "Make me."

Harry reached his hand into his robes, yanking out his wand quickly enough that he had it pointing at Malfoy's chest before the blond could even move for his own. Malfoy stared with wide eyes at Harry's hand and then back at Harry, where his eyes changed from shock to boiling fury.

Harry wasn't stupid enough to hex Malfoy in the middle of a crowded pub, instead he delivered a punch straight into Malfoy's face, eliciting a sharp crack from somewhere around the nose. He winced at the pain that shot through his arm.

Malfoy gave a high-pitched shriek of pain before staggering backwards into Blaise, who caught him before he hit the ground.

Pansy screamed too, her voice splicing through the air like nails on a chalkboard, and making every single person in the pub jump in their seats and turn about angrily to see what the commotion was all about. She and Blaise had murderous looks, their faces white and livid. Cho was standing behind Harry gaping, stunned at what he'd done.

"You!" screeched Pansy, pulling out her wand, with a curse upon her lips, but she needn't have, because at that moment Blaise's fist caught Harry's jaw and sent him flying to the floor with a painful crash. Harry's head collided with the hardwood floor, and he saw stars.

"Harry!" cried Cho in horror, clapping her hands over her mouth.

"Blaise!" cried Malfoy, the blood from his nose flowing freely over his lips and down his chin. Faster than a blink of an eye, Madam Rosmerta appeared at the scene, her hands on her hips, very upset.

"BOYS! ENOUGH!" she bellowed furiously, standing over them. "I will NOT allow fighting inside my pub!" The entire pub diminished into a hush, frenzied whispers bulleting back and forth between the spectators.

Harry tried to sit up but groaned when his head throbbed and spun. He lay back down again and gingerly fingered his sore jaw. He could feel the quick swelling and tasted a coppery substance on his lips.

He felt gentle hands heaving him up by the upper arm and opened his eyes to see Cho trying to help him onto his feet.

"You two should have someone tend to those injuries," Madam Rosmerta said reprovingly, and her tone clearly told them to leave the pub. Harry, who didn't care for any more attention, muttered an apology and let Cho guide him across the floor to the door, his head bowed guiltily. He didn't even glance at Malfoy, whose robe front was shining with crimson.

"Oh Harry!" Cho said nervously, her voice shaking as they exited the pub into the icy air outside. "Are you okay? Should we go back up to the castle to see Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry mustered up the strength to endure the sharp pain in his jaw and shook his head. "No-" he muttered grimly, massaging his jaw. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I mean, I don't mind at all, and you should really have -"

"It's okay, Cho," Harry reassured her without trying not to move his lips. It hurt like hell. "It's my own fault anyway."

Cho snorted and glared disagreeably.

"It _isn't_ your fault. It was Malfoy's fault! He was being a rude jerk!"

"Yeah, well, he's always rude and a jerk, isn't he? I shouldn't have let my temper go off like that in the middle of the Three Broomsticks... I'm sorry, Cho - for - for ruining our - uh..." he trailed off feebly, feeling uncomfortable.

Cho sighed and let her fingers graze his swollen chin tenderly. "You haven't ruined a thing, Harry. I'm just happy to be with you."

Harry blushed and wrapped his cloak tighter around his shoulders. "Thanks, me too. I mean, not with me, but being with you. Happy. I mean -"

Cho laughed and gave him a hug. "You're too adorable for words, Harry."

But Harry admitted silently to himself that being called adorable wasn't very flattering. Especially by a girl a year older than him. And it was all Malfoy's bloody fault. A ruined date, a ruined kiss, a ruined impression of himself for Cho. He was going to have to pay Malfoy back severely and for once, he was looking forward to a match against Slytherin, which he conveniently had the next day. Tomorrow, he'd make Malfoy wish he'd never messed with Harry. He was determined to do that even if it took a whole new level of ferocity on the Gryffindor team's part. Give the ferret a little tasting of his own medicine.

The day was looking brighter already.

* * *


	2. Harry Potter, the Hoi Polloi

**- The Amour -**_  
Prequel to The Amourette  
_**  
Rated**_  
R  
_**  
Disclaimer**_  
You wish I owned Harry Potter & Co. don't you?  
Because then, I'd have my naughty way with them...  
Too bad._

**Beta  
**_The Ubberly Wonderful Messiah!  
_

* * *

** • Chapter Two •**  
_ Harry Potter, the Hoi Polloi_

**O**nce again, Harry's date with Cho had turned out to be a misadventure, and even though this time, Cho hadn't run off sobbing in the end, he still felt a bit guilty and disappointed in the outcome. It made him feel very incapable of doing anything remotely related to girls and he wondered why things had to be so troublesome.

Some people were fortunate to be born with the gift of girl-wooing. He however, was born with two left feet when it came to that matter. Not only was it humiliating, but it made his self-esteem sink very, very low. He was sure there weren't any people who considered parseltongue to be a very attractive gift; that disastrous dueling club back in second year had shown him as much.

As he trudged back up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower later that afternoon, he vaguely wondered why he hadn't run into Ron or Hermione at Hogsmeade. After Ron's odd fit about Harry going with Cho, he'd shrugged and said that he and Hermione would be going alone and would be having loads of fun without Harry. Harry supposed that Ron had a right to be upset since the three _did_ have plans to go together that day, but Ron also knew about Harry's crush on Cho and wasn't it normal for a sixteen year old boy to choose crushes over friends for Hogsmeade dates?

As a matter of fact, he and Ron were about the only guys in Gryffindor that didn't have girlfriends. It was pathetic really. Even Neville had one, not that Harry thought he was better than Neville or anything, but Neville was shy and hardly took the initiative to do anything. And that made him wonder - why?

With Ron, it was only a matter of time, for everyone knew that he 'secretly' had a thing for Hermione, in return Hermione 'secretly' had a thing for Ron. All it would take was a couple of hard shoves in the right direction from either side and they'd be snogging under the dinner table before anyone could say 'Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare'.

But Harry. That was where the problem was. Or was he himself the problem? He wasn't even sure if Cho had considered their 'date' today an actual _date_ date or just a friendly _lunch_ date. She hadn't tried any moves on him after that event in the Three Broomsticks and they'd parted rather awkwardly at the foot of the main staircase with a hug and a peck on the cheek.

And the odd thing was, Harry wasn't sure if he was as completely infatuated with Cho as he had thought, not like he had been in his third and fourth year. There were definitely way too many awkward moments, and thinking of her didn't bring that rollercoaster thrill to the pit of his stomach, not as it once had.

When he entered the Gryffindor common room, he was surprised to see Hermione sitting alone by the fire, quills, parchment, and books spread out on the table before her. She looked up when he came in and smiled wearily, setting down her quill.

"You're back early," she said, clearing off the chair next to her and setting her book bag on the floor. "Have fun?"

Harry plopped down into the chair and sighed. "S'ppose so... where's Ron? Didn't you two go to Hogsmeade?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He changed his mind at the last minute and decided not to. He's only been down from the dormitory once for lunch."

"Is it because of me and Cho?" Harry asked apprehensively, glancing at the staircase leading to the boy's tower.

"You've done nothing wrong," said Hermione with a shake of her head. "Ron's just being immature, and you shouldn't let that get in the way of you and Cho. She's a nice girl, Harry."

Harry frowned, his former thoughts rising up in his mind again. Maybe if he talked about his doubts with Hermione, it would help him to clear them up and rid him of the confusion that was serving him such a useless hassle. Hermione was a girl. She might be able to tell him what kinds of thoughts were going on inside Cho's mind.

"Hermione," he began uncertainly, his voice involuntarily lowering even though there was no one else around. "I'm sort of, well, really confused about this whole thing with - with Cho, and I was thinking... maybe me and her aren't really - uh - compatible?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Why would you think that?" she asked and Harry's cheeks reddened a bit.

"I - I dunno..." he muttered. "It's just... different from before, in a way. More awkward."

"I'm sure it's just your nerves thinking that, Harry. I mean, you've liked her since third year and she's obviously liked you too, except she's had to get over Cedric's death and everything. It's no wonder you're feeling confused, with Ron making a fuss and all, but I don't think you should really worry about it. Honestly." she smiled and patted him on the knee.

Harry bit his lip. "You reckon? That it's just that I mean? My nerves?"

Hermione nodded reassuringly. "I do."

Harry let out a sigh and chuckled. "That's good then. I was beginning to think that maybe I was weird or something."

"Well you _are_ Harry Potter," she reminded jokingly, gathering up her notes and sandwiching them in between the pages of her Charms book.

"Haha, thanks," Harry rolled his eyes, getting up from his seat. "I'm gonna go talk to Ron, see if I can't make him come down."

"Good luck with that," she laughed and waved sarcastically.

Harry took the winding stairs three at a time, feeling considerably lighter at heart. Of _course_ it was just his nerves. After all, Hermione was right, he did have a crush on Cho since third year, and he could remember feeling jealous whenever he saw Cho with Cedric. That had to mean something.

He cracked open the door to his dormitory and stuck his head in.

"Ron?" he called tentatively.

Ron was lying on his back in his four poster, his hands beneath his head and a forlorn expression on his face. He started when he heard Harry's voice and sat up. "Oh, it's only you," the redhead muttered and flopped back down.

"Yeah, it's only me. So uh -" he stepped into the room and closed the door softly. "What's up? What are you doing up here?"

"Being alone," Ron replied coldly.

"Right... so should I leave?" Harry asked, feeling slightly annoyed but trying to keep his voice cool.

Ron didn't turn his head to look at Harry, he just stared up at the canopy of his bed. "Sure why not, you're probably busy with Cho... friends don't come first for you anyway."

"So it _is_ about her, isn't it?" Harry said, crossing his arms. "What's wrong with me going on a date with her?"

Ron sat up again and glared at him, his freckles standing out sharply against his cheeks. "I didn't say anything was wrong with you going out with her!"

"Yes you did! You were having a fit this morning when I got an owl from her! Or did you already forget about that?"

"I was NOT having a fit!"

"Yes you were!"

"No I bloody wasn't! I don't care a crap about who you go out with! Hell, you could go out with Malfoy and I wouldn't give a damn!" Harry's mouth dropped open in disgust.

"That's just gross, Ron! Take that back!"

"Then quit bothering me!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

"Be an arse! Like I care!" and Harry stormed out of the dormitory and slammed the door behind him. When he returned to the common room, Hermione was still there, her eyes wide and curious.

"What were you two shouting about? I could hear you all the way down here."

"No idea," Harry hrmphed angrily. "He's got a problem with me going out with Cho but he won't admit it." He snapped his head around sharply to look at Hermione. "Why would he have a problem with me and her anyway?"

Hermione bit her lip uncertainly. "Well, it's obvious that he's a bit jealous, isn't it? I mean not of you or Cho specifically, but just the fact that you've got someone now. He's..." she blushed pink. "He hasn't got anyone yet..."

Harry's anger simmered down at that and he suddenly regretted blowing up at Ron like he had. What a great best friend he was. "But that doesn't give him an excuse to be an arse about it," he protested halfheartedly. "I mean, it just makes everything more complicated."

Hermione nodded and buried her red nose in her book. "He'll come around Harry. Don't worry."

The conversation ended there, and Harry considered for a moment going up to talk to Ron again, but his pride was still very ticked off, so he decided that he'd give it few more hours to cool down.

His jaw was aching badly now, thanks to the shouting match upstairs, and even though the swelling had gone down, the pain was still there and sharp. He told Hermione he was going to visit the infirmary to get some ice for it and left Gryffindor Tower quickly.

"Not another fight, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey tutted when he walked into the hospital wing with his hand over his jaw. "Second one I've had to treat today. Fighting over silly things no doubt." She examined his bruised jaw and tapped it lightly with her wand. "There you are, good as new."

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said, trying out his de-pained jaw with ease.

"Now, mind you keep out of any more fights, young man," she scolded severely, placing her wand back into her apron pocket.  
Harry nodded obediently and was about to turn around to leave when he caught sight of someone sitting on a stool on the other side of the room, staring at him.

"Malfoy," Harry said coldly, sneering at the bandage that was taped across the bridge of Malfoy's nose. He was proud to know that he'd been the one to cause that damage. "How's your nose doing?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and flickered, his lips pursing into a hard, thin line. "Thanks for the concern, but it's doing fine," the blonde spat in a nasally voice, and then wincing and clutching his nose.

"Now boys, no more arguing!" Madam Pomfrey interrupted, uncorking a vial of purple potion and handing it to Malfoy. "Drink this, and you may leave, Mr. Malfoy." Malfoy shot Harry an icy glare before tipping the contents of the vial past his lips and then standing up.

Harry turned and left the infirmary, intent on leaving before Malfoy could catch up with him and hex him into oblivion for temporarily deforming his perfect face.

But when he heard Malfoy snarl "Potter!" from behind him. He stopped and braced himself, plunging his hand into his robes even though he knew it to be too late. He was surprised, to say the least, when Malfoy appeared beside him, both hands empty except for a small pack of ice which he was holding gingerly to his nose.

"No need to get all feisty, Potter," he heard the blonde smirk in the same nasally voice that didn't suit him at all. Harry almost laughed out loud, but he managed to suppress it by biting the inside of his cheek. "No one's ever broken my nose before. Hell no one's ever broken anything of mine before. You must be proud of yourself."

Harry raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Yeah, pretty proud," he answered nonchalantly. "I did even more damage to you than Zabini did to me, and he's pretty big you know?"

Malfoy scowled. "Damage, my arse. I could have knocked you out _easily,_ Potter and you'd have had to suffer more than just broken bones."

"Oh? Is ickle-ferret-poo threatening me?" Harry mocked, pointedly looking at Malfoy's bandaged nose, making Malfoy scowl even more.  
"No Potter," he retorted arrogantly, lowering his ice. "_That_ would be a waste of my precious time. I've got better things to do, unlike you, then threatening less intelligent beings."

Harry frowned indignantly. "Less intelligent am I? And who said you had more brain then me? Quit daydreaming, Malfoy."

"Well, crushing on a soggy tissue like Chang wouldn't be something I'd call _intelligent_, but I already knew you were the hoi polloi from the first day of school. We don't compare much, do we?" Malfoy spread out his arms as if to display himself smugly.

Harry snorted. Yeah so Malfoy was more fortunate than him in the physical appearance department, but when it came to wit, to courage, to everything else, Malfoy was scum. A cheating, lying, conniving little prick.

"I'd like to hear you say that to my face tomorrow after I've caught the snitch from right under your nose," he replied smoothly.

"Such wishful thinking -" Malfoy clucked his tongue in mock sympathy. "Must be what goes on in the mind of a celebrity, hm?"

"Whatever, Malfoy. Just get off my case and go bug someone else." Harry turned on his heel to walk away, but Malfoy stopped him again.

"Potter."

"_What?_" Harry asked, exasperated.

A thin, white hand extended itself toward Harry and he stared at it feeling very bewildered.

"Good luck tomorrow," Malfoy said, and Harry thought he'd misheard him. Or that he'd overlooked the sarcasm in his tone.

"What?" he repeated lamely.

Malfoy raised his hand higher. "I said 'good luck tomorrow'. You should really get your ears checked."

Harry stared at the hand, and then back up at Malfoy, suspicious. But there wasn't any trace of a smirk on his pale face, and he didn't lower that hand that was extended. It was oddly like experiencing a déjà vu... five years ago... a tableau almost exactly like this...

Shaking his head, he grasped the hand before him and smiled.

"Good luck to you too, Malfoy," and he walked away without a backward glance.

That evening during dinner, everything felt so strange and out of place. Ron was apparently still pissed at him, Hermione was trying hard to get them to talk, Cho came over from the Ravenclaw table to talk to him, giving him a shy kiss on the cheek before leaving (making Ron even more upset), Seamus was making risqué comments that made him shudder, and Malfoy was back to sneering and smirking at him from the Slytherin table along with the rest of his good-for-nothing housemates.

By the end of dinner, he felt so annoyed by everything around him that he just wanted to stand up and shout "LEAVE ME ALONE!" and storm off to the Gryffindor Tower, but decided against it because that would just draw more attention to himself. Attention was never good.

He was very grateful when Dean did the favor of telling Seamus to 'Shut up already! We know you're gay, but do you have to be annoying too?', and Ron did the favor of shushing Hermione up by growling and brandishing his fork menacingly, although that only insulted her and made her stab moodily at her chicken and gravy the rest of dinner.

Overall, it was chaotic and highly irritable for the entire lot of sixth year Gryffindors. They were all relieved when dinner came to a closure and it was time for the Great Hall to empty. Ron and Hermione stayed behind to attend a prefect meeting, and so Harry made his way up the staircases to the tower alone.

He declined an invite to join Dean, Seamus, and Neville in a game of Exploding Snap, claiming that he had to work on some unfinished homework, and seated himself at one of the round tables in the corners of the common room with his books and parchment. He could hardly concentrate enough to get past reading the second page of the assignment however because his mind was so busy and so full of the upcoming Quidditch match against Slytherin. The confidence Malfoy seemed to have earlier that day unnerved him a bit, and made him want to go out to the pitch and practice more, but alas, it was snowing a blizzard outside and past curfew by the time that thought came to his mind. He was forced to abandon the idea and continue with reading the same sentence in his book over and over again.

Hermione and Ron returned at a quarter past nine, and they didn't seem to be talking to each other yet. Hermione joined Harry at the table, dumping her book bag on the table a little harshly, and Ron, without even so much as glancing in Harry's direction, went to include himself in the game the other boys were playing.

Harry sighed audibly and picked up his quill again, filling in random numbers into his star chart and feeling very put out.

"He'll come around by tomorrow, Harry. Don't worry," Hermione reassured him tartly, in a tone that clearly told him that she didn't really believe her own words at all. Harry just shrugged and let everything else drown out around him.


	3. At Sixes and Sevens

**The Amour  
**_Prequel to The Amourette_

**Rated  
**_R_

**Disclaimer  
**_If I owned Harry Potter, Harry and Draco would have long since gotten over their rivalry and deflowered each other. But as we can see in OoTP, Harry still seems to be stubbornly unnattracted to Draco, with his cherry intact, so that would signify that I haven't yet been able to barter the lot off of JK. Rowling._

* * *

• **Chapter Three •  
**_At Sixes and Sevens_

**T**he morning of the anticipated Quidditch match dawned in complete contrast to the evening before. The blizzard had stopped, the sun was beaming and there wasn't a single gust of wind that might have bothered with the aerodynamics of the fourteen players.

And these fourteen players had concreted looks on their faces as they marched onto the field amid deafening roars and hisses reverberating three-hundred and sixty degrees around them. Colors flashed, lions shook their impressive manes, serpents slithered; their tongues a rattling, and it was a dizzying crash boom bang that would have made the heavens above, tremble.

Madam Hooch was standing stoutly in the middle of the field with a hand on her hip and holding a broomstick, the other pinching a silver whistle that was draped around her neck on a string. The infamous wooden crate sat next to her and it was shuddering violently, as if the balls inside were struggling against their clasps to escape.

Two team captains, one short and burly, the other tall and gangly, stepped up to the center line, both sporting equally intimidating glares on their faces. The rest of the players took their positions, encircling their captains and drawing themselves up to look bigger than they really were.

Harry was standing at the very edge of the line, opposite Malfoy. His palms were slightly damp beneath the thick material of his gloves and even though the temperature was average for a winter day, he was already too warm in his Quidditch attire; heart beating twice as fast as usual with an adrenaline that only flying could invoke.

After the especially emotional and energizing peptalk from Ron (who never once spoke directly to Harry), the team was riled up and ready to fight. Nothing the Slytherins brought would throw off their carefully strategized plays today. No siree.

Harry looked up briefly and caught sight of a huddled shimmer of scarlet and gold in one of the stands to his left. Although it was too far to see clearly, he could have sworn he saw a voluminous bush of brown hair next to a compulsive series of bright flashes, like that of a camera. Oh yes, and there was no mistaking that overlarge lion hat that no doubt housed the head of Luna Lovegood, the oddball. She never sat with her house during the matches, and she never attended a match unless Gryffindor was playing.

Then, he lowered his gaze and met the eyes of the opposing team's Seeker. They were looking just as exhilarated, and still very merciless as always and Harry tried to reciprocate that undaunted look.

Malfoy's eyes were silently daring, taunting him as if to say 'Prepare to lose, Potter' and matching those thin lips that were twisted upwards and curling.

Harry narrowed his eyes, dimly aware of the fact that Madam Hooch had commanded the captains to shake hands. The two Seeker's eyes never left the other's as each threw their legs over their brooms, grasped the handles and kicked off simultaneously as a shrilling whistle was blown.

The whistling of the air in Harry's ears soon drowned out the whistle emitted from the refree's lips and he rose higher, and higher, and higher; the pitch and it's thousands of screaming occupants growing smaller, and smaller, and smaller. Soon, he was at least fifty feet above the tallest goal post, and at least forty feet above the rest of his teammates. This was where he stopped his ascent and switched gears into search mode.

Malfoy had stopped a few feet below him and he was lazily circling beneath Harry like a shadow wherever he went, but this wasn't new to Harry so he was able to ignore Malfoy effectively.

Whether it was a tactic or not, Harry wasn't sure but Malfoy seemed to be keen on trying to get his attention every few minutes by shouting out "Hey scarhead! Are you keeping an eye out for the Snitch?" and "Tell me when you spot it, will you? I'll just have a quick doze..." and "Haha! Look at those imbecilic teammates of yours! They can't even keep hold of the bloody ball for ten seconds!" and on and on. Harry didn't reply once, although he felt like ramming a Bludger into the prat's skull each time his voice reached his ears. Not only was it highly annoying, but if it was a tactic to distract him, it was working fairly well and that wasn't what Harry needed at such a crucial point in the game.

If he squinted, he could see the large scoreboard at the far side of the pitch and according to it, there was only thirty points separating Slytherin and Gryffindor and even though his team was in the lead, one Snitch was all Malfoy needed to claim victory for the Slytherins. Harry felt as if this game was the most important game he'd ever played yet. Not because it was the first game of the season, but because he wanted to prove to Malfoy that he _was_ capable of winning. That he wasn't just a famous name with a famous scar. He had the actual _ability _to fly and that he'd _earned_ his spot on the team, unlike Malfoy who'd _bought_ his way as Seeker. There was a distinct difference between them, and he would prove that here. Today.

Another clang sounded as Gryffindor scored, but there was hardly time for cheering as the Slytherins managed to get Quaffle through their goal hoop only seconds later. Fifty to eighty, the board read.

"Blundering idiot!" Malfoy cursed as Nott dropped the Quaffle in an attempt to pass it to Montague. It was immediately picked up by Seamus who passed it to Ginny just as a Bludger was whacked in his direction by Goyle. The game was getting desperate, and all that watched could see. There was an increasing amount of blood flying as Bludgers rammed people's stomachs and heads. An increasing number of penalties, and an increasing series of gasps and hisses echoing from the stands as foul after foul was committed.

Forty minutes into the game and neither Harry or Malfoy had seen any sign of the Golden Snitch. Harry even began to wonder if maybe Madam Hooch had forgot to unleash the ball and that it was still latched into the wooden crate on the ground.

He could see the rest of his teammates struggling to stay airborne and keeping the Quaffle in their possession at the same time. Andrew and Dean were panting and swinging their bats wildly, trying to keep them from hitting their team. Harry knew that if he didn't catch the Snitch soon, something terrible would happen, and so he decided to change his approach and quickly flew across the length of his field to the other side, lowering his height a good distance to the ground. He usually avoided getting this close to the rest of the game because the rash movements around him distracted him from being able to see a tiny flutter of gold, but today, a gut feeling told him that this way would be better somehow.

Malfoy wasn't far behind him. He apparently thought Harry had seen the Snitch and had come racing after him, but Harry didn't pay any heed.

_Just find the Snitch. Just find the Snitch before him,_ a voice inside his head repeated over and over again.

"Any sign of the Snitch yet?" Seamus shouted frantically as he zoomed past with the Quaffle tucked beneath his arm.

"No! I'm trying!" Harry shouted back apologetically. He focused his gaze on the air around him once more.

He ducked just in the nick of time as a rogue Bludger zigzagged over his head and caused the hairs on his arms stand on end. It made him remember how grateful he was of not being a Beater or a Chaser.

"Looking pretty lost down here, aren't you Potter?" Malfoy called to him loudly above the noise, cool-as-you-please, and Harry's mind briefly wondered (NOT in awe) how Malfoy could stay so self-possessed with players yelling and screaming from all sides, Bludger blurs shooting past him in every direction, and a Snitch to keep his eye out for. "Scared?" the blond taunted.

Harry pursed his lips and acted as if he hadn't heard him.

But Malfoy was unrelenting.

"Just don't piss in your pants, Potty, or we'll have to call time-out!"

Before he could stop himself he whirled his broom around to face Malfoy angrily, a very dirty swearword on the tip of his tongue. He never got to say it though, because at that moment, a look of horror washed across Malfoy's pale face and his eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.

"Potter!" he finally yelled in a half strangled voice. "Look out!"

BAM!

Stars showered across his vision, followed by an excruciating pain beyond belief and he slumped forward onto his broom, consciousness slipping away rapidly.

As he fell sideways off his broom, his last vision before he closed his eyes was a pale shadow hovering above him, reaching out in slow motion as if trying to catch him.

But Malfoy would never do something like that.

Wind whistled in his ears once more.

-

When Harry awoke, his head was aching so badly that he thought someone might be hammering on his skull from the inside. In fact, his whole body was sore; especially his arms and his ribs. They felt bruised and torn on the hinges.

He opened his eyes slowly after taking a few deep breaths and found that he was staring into pitch darkness - he began to panic. At first, he thought he might have gone blind, but then, an even worse fear began to course through his veins.

Was he _dead_?

He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be. That was not possible.

Ignoring the thundering pain in his head he sat bolt upright, arms flailing madly around him to feel something, _anything_ that might tell him he was still on earth. He couldn't be dead.

He cried out when his arm came in contact with something hard and sent it flying off whatever it had been sitting on. There was a shattering sound like glass on tile and his breath stopped.

Hope began to replace that fear in his chest and he reached out his arms to try and touch something else. He jumped when something collided with his hand, no, _grasped_ his hand clumsily through the darkness and he had to bite his lip to keep a yelp of surprise escaping his mouth.

"_What are you trying to do, Potter? Cut off my head_?" a voice hissed through the air, not too far away. Harry frowned as he tried to place that voice.

"Mal... Malfoy?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes, you tossing git. _Lumos._"

A sudden white light blinded him momentarily and then dimmed away, just bright enough to illuminate the scene around him. And sure enough, there he was, the Slytherin prat sitting a foot away from him, his brows furrowed. The unnatural shadows cast from the light almost made it look as if Malfoy had a _concerned_ expression on his face. Harry snorted at the very idea but immediately regretted it because it caused his head to pound even more. He groaned and grabbed his head in both hands.

"Here - drink this," he heard Malfoy say and he looked up with gritted teeth. Malfoy was holding out a thin vial of an almost translucent liquid. A warning flashed through Harry's mind, telling him to be wary of possible poisoning, but the pain in his head was far too overwhelming. Anything to make the pain go away.

He snatched at the bottle and downed it in one gulp. The taste was acrid on his tongue and tingled as it ran down his throat, yet to his surprise, the pain gradually subsided. At least enough for him to pry his hands off his head and straighten up again.

"What was that?" he asked weakly, licking his dry lips. "Where am I?"

Malfoy was looking at him, seemingly surprised too that Harry had taken the drink without questioning first.

"The infirmary, Potter. And that potion you drank was a pain-reliever. Madam Pomfrey left it here with me before she retired."

"Oh," Harry nodded, feeling a bit doozy from the medicine. And then he did a double-take. "What? Madam Pomfrey - _you_?"

Malfoy raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"Yes?"

Harry spluttered, realizing how out of place this situation was.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Your welcome, Potter," growled Malfoy. "For your information, I've been here all night looking after you like a bloody guardian. I don't suppose you have any manners?"

"Okay, then _why_ the hell are you here? You haven't been slipping me poisons have you?" Harry accused, panicking. Who wouldn't, if they woke up to find their archenemy sitting beside them in a deserted room?

Malfoy rolled his eyes, twirling his wand between his lithe fingers.

"Paranoid Potter, of course I haven't. One, I'd get kicked out of this school and two, You-Know-Who would be furious."

Harry frowned. "No, he would be ecstatic."

"I thought you knew him better by now, what with all your yearly duels," Malfoy drawled carelessly. "He has a very strong ambition to kill you, yes, but he also wants to do it himself. Otherwise, you would be long dead by now Potter."

Harry opened his mouth but closed it abruptly, feeling somewhat foolish and insulted. He glared silently at Malfoy.

"Oh and by the way, I suppose you want to know how the game turned out?" Malfoy asked, examining his nails.

Harry sighed, a heavy weight sinking into the pit of his stomach at the memory of the match. There was no doubt that Gryffindor had lost, he'd fallen off his broom...

"Gryffindor won by one-hundred and twenty points. So congrats."

Harry blinked.

"Er - we did?"

"Yes."

"H-how?"

"How else would you win Pothead, use your brains if you have any!"

"I'd have to have caught the Snitch..."

"Very good," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Although a bit slow..."

Harry's mind did cartwheels and he felt far more confused then he'd ever felt on a History of Magic's exam.

"I caught the Snitch?"

"Merlin, you _are_ slow. Go any slower and you'll be passing Crabbe and Goyle."

"But- but -"

Malfoy glared at him and jabbed his wand in the air, making the light flicker dangerously.

"Shut up already, will you? _Yes_ you caught it before me, and _yes_ you won. Happy?"

Harry did shut up, although why he was following Malfoy's orders was beyond him. He was still at sixes and sevens about catching the Snitch, because he had absolutely _no_ recollection whatsoever of doing that, but if Gryffindor had won, then there was no need to question it. He was happy with the outcome, yes.

Harry glanced about the room, searching for something witty to say, but unfortunately not coming up with anything.

"Why don't you just turn on the lamp?" he asked finally, the bright light of Malfoy's wand annoying his sensitive eyes.

Malfoy tilted his wand toward the ground and a heap of glass could be seen by his feet. "Because you broke it, smart one. And there aren't any others in here."

Harry felt his ears reddening. "Oh."

Malfoy gazed back at him, almost thoughtfully for a moment.

"Does it still hurt?" he drawled prodding his wand back at Harry's face.

Harry squinted and batted away the wand.

"Quit that and yes I'm still hurting."

"No dimwit, your scar. Does it ever hurt?" the blond was eyeing his forehead with an odd glimmer in his grey eyes. He cocked his head to the side.

"M-my scar?" Harry's fingers instinctively went up to comb his fringe back to conceal his lighting bolt scar. "It - it still twinges sometimes." He blushed. "What's it to you anyway? Planning on informing Voldemort are you?"

Malfoy only flinched slightly at the sound of Voldemort's name, but Harry caught it nonetheless.

There was a silent pause before Malfoy shifted his gaze to the side, away from Harry.

"I suppose you think that the whole lot of us Slytherins are going to be Death Eaters after we leave Hogwarts, don't you?" he muttered grimly.

"No. I think there are already those with the Dark Mark on their arms," Harry replied coldly, his eyes drifting to the left forearm of Malfoy's which was covered by a black sleeve. "If Voldemort wasn't so selfish, I'm sure you'd be first in line to be the one to finish me off."

"I would, would I? Pretty full of yourself, aren't you? Thinking that everyone considers it a privilege to be able to cast the killing curse on you. Well I'm sorry to burst your happy bubble, Potter, but I've got better plans for my future and none of them concern you," Malfoy snapped passively, his pale face glowing pink. Harry stared.

"Er - right, then," he said awkwardly.

There was another silence.

"Going to be an Auror after school?"

Harry started and frowned. "Erm - probably..." _Why_ in the world was he conversing occupations with Malfoy?

"You'd make a good Auror, I suppose. You have that 'I've-got-to-save-all-the-pathetic-people-from-the-bad-guys' sort of thing and I'm betting it'll come in handy while you're off saving the muggles from the onslaught." Malfoy shrugged. "But then again, I'd never do something so vulgar as tainting my hands with other people's filthy blood." He shuddered. "The atrocity of it."

Harry's stomach twisted in confused knots. What the hell was Malfoy talking about? He was supposed to be Lucius Malfoy's son!

He licked his lips. "Then what _are_ you planning to do after school?" he asked slowly, offhandedly.

Malfoy tapped his chin with his finger.

"Haven't thought of it yet, but maybe an accountant, or a lawyer, or a doctor. Someone who earns a shitload of money, anyway."

Harry snorted. "Not happy with what you've got now?"

"Barely," replied Malfoy, clearly missing Harry's tone of sarcasm. "I mean, I can't even afford my own Thunderbolt Two Thousand and Six-" He blushed rosé again, pursing his lips defiantly. "Not that you'd ever be able to either, Potter. Your parents may have been rich, but they were nowhere near as wealthy as the Malfoys are."

"I'm happy with my Firebolt, thanks," Harry glowered hotly.

"I'm sure," Malfoy sneered.

Harry crossed his arms, a muscle in his face twitching with contained anger.

"If you're only here to annoy the crap out of me, you've accomplished it, so get out already." He slumped back into his bed and pointedly turned onto his side facing away from Malfoy. He half expected to hear the sound of chair legs scraping against the floor, but instead he heard a soft thump and felt something press against his legs.

"Can't. Pomfrey told me to stay and look after you, you baby."'

Harry rolled over quickly to face Malfoy and found himself facing him indeed - only two feet too close. They were nose to nose and Malfoy's eyes had gone wide with surprise. Harry froze, staring unblinkingly back at the silvery grey eyes of his enemy, his jaw going slightly slack.

Neither moved for a moment; a moment that felt much too long to Harry, yet at the same time, he had no clue that he was still staring back at Malfoy. Malfoy was kneeling beside the bed, his arms propped onto the edge of the bed and his chin resting on one of his palms.

He cleared his throat weakly, and Harry was about to pull away sharply when he felt something warm grazing the tender skin on his forehead, in the shape of his scar. That was when he realized he'd been closing his eyes. When he opened them, he saw that it was Malfoy's long forefinger, tracing his scar gently.

"Malfoy?" a voice asked feebly from his own throat.

"Shh..." Malfoy whispered, and Harry noticed that Malfoy's finger was trembling ever so slightly. The adam's apple in his pale throat dipped low, and then resurfaced sharply.

Harry was suddenly mesmerized by the swirling silver in Malfoy's eyes, and the feel of Malfoy's finger on his skin. A hot breath ghosted across his cheek and to his ear, making his shudder and close his eyes. He had absolutely no clue what was happening to him, and a part of him didn't want to know.

The fingers were suddenly no longer on his scar; they were gliding down the side of his face, along his jaw, tracing the shape of his lips gently and then cupping his chin and lifting his face forward just slightly...

"Malfoy..." Harry whispered again, his heartbeat hammering against his ribcage for some reason. What was going on? He felt dizzy.

Harry's eyes widened even more as Malfoy's eyes fluttered close and he leaned in deliberately, tentatively almost. If he leaned in any closer...

That was when their lips touched, and a spark of electricity shot up Harry's spine. Those lips contrary to their appearance, felt so soft, so silky, so so good against his own dried lips.

He closed his own eyes and lifted his head just barely enough to press against Malfoy's lips. Saneness be gone...

As if in reply, Malfoy pressed forward too and bit down onto Harry's bottom lip, tugging at it as if it were cotton candy, and it made Harry moan. His hand grabbed Malfoy's collar to pull him even closer. Malfoy let go of his lips and Harry felt cold all of the sudden, thirsty, unsatisfied. His breath was shallow and his body was aching for oxygen.

Malfoy stared at him, chest rising and falling far faster then before. His cheeks were pink and flustered-looking, his lips swollen and glistening with Harry's saliva.

The eyes staring back at him were just as hungry and just as desperate, but they were also shocked and disbelieving.

"Harry..." Malfoy's voice was hoarse, unsure.

And that was what made Harry snap out of his stupor. With a startled cry, he jumped backwards, almost tumbling off the other side of the bed. He was shaking.

"What the _fuck_ Malfoy? Wh-what are you DOING?" He knew he was just as much to blame, but that didn't stop him for being furious with Malfoy. It was MALFOY for shite's sake!

"Fuck... Ha - _Potter_-" Malfoy said, biting his lip. "Please..."

"No! Get away from me! God that did not just _happen_! Oh god -" he scooted as far away from Malfoy as was physically possible without losing his balance from atop the bed. "Why the HELL were you- you- _doing that_?"

"Well you weren't really resisting, were you?" Malfoy snapped feverishly, his cool façade completely gone. "Why the bloody hell were you kissing back then?"

"I was not!" Harry protested, even though he knew it was pointless to lie. He just didn't want to believe that he had. He didn't want to believe any of it.

"Oh, that's the worst lie I've ever heard in my life!" exclaimed Malfoy, his eyes narrowing icily. "Hell, you were practically _pulling_ me on top you!"

Harry flushed furiously, feeling so hot that he could have sworn the temperature in the room had gone up at least a hundred degrees.

"You started it!" he cried, cringing at sounding like such a five year old, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. "You were touching my forehead and leaning in and - I just reacted! Not because it was _you_, gods no!"

Malfoy looked insulted at that, and for a split second, just a split second, Harry regretted saying that, but then it was true wasn't it? His teenage hormones had reacted to being touched, it could have well been anyone.

Malfoy's pink cheeks paled considerably and he abruptly stood up, brushing off his robes, eyes averted.

"Fine," he spat venomously. "Fine. We'll act like this never happened. I'll do myself a favor and forget your nasty lips ever touched mine."

Harry's insides twisted and he opened his mouth to retort.

"Not a word, Potter," Malfoy snarled, his eyes reflecting a boiling fury that made Harry recoil slightly. "Good night."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness along with the dim, white light, and everything was swallowed into blackness once more.


	4. Oh Crap Oh Shit Oh Christ Oh GOD

**The Amour  
**_Prequel to The Amourette_

**Rated  
**_R_

**Disclaimer  
**_Harry and Draco, sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.  
First come a snog, then comes a handjob, and then comes JK. ROWLING SCREAMING 'STOP! STOP THIS OBSENITY THIS INSTANT OR I WILL DISCONTINUE THE HARRY POTTER SERIES FOREVER!'  
So you see, Harry Potter (the one the majority of the world knows) was at stake, and so I could not continue..._

* * *

**• Chapter Four •  
**_Oh Crap, Oh Shit, Oh Christ, oh GOD  
_

**H**arry didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, or if he'd ever been awake at all, but when he opened his eyes, a bright, yellow light - also commonly know as 'the sun' - made him snap his eyes shut again.

It was followed by a loud,

"He moved!"

And a,

"He did?"

And then a chorus of two voices calling,

"Harry!" as he cracked his eyes open for the second time, this time wisely shading his face with his hand to avoid vision impairment.

He could vaguely make out two tall shapes clad in black standing beside him, their postures bent as they leaned over him. He was then able to link his lack of clarity in eyesight to the lack of his glasses and reached over to the nightstand beside his bed blindly in search for them. His fingers caught the wireframes and he hurriedly pushed them onto the bridge of his nose, blinking.

"Harry! You're awake!" Hermione exclaimed cheerfully, a smile of relief on her face. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry distractedly glanced at the figure standing a foot behind her, and was surprised to see that it was Ron. He had a sheepish sort of half-grin on his face with his hands behind his back.

"Er - hey, mate," Ron said, looking genuinely concerned. "You doing alright?"

Harry grinned back, never happier to have his friend back and on talking terms again.

"Not bad," he replied. "Thanks for coming by."

"We were here yesterday too, but we had to leave at nine o'clock for another prefect meeting, and then it got so late that we decided to just come back in the morning, seeing as you probably weren't going to wake up for another couple of hours," Hermione told him. Her smile suddenly changed into a frightened look and her brows knitted as she clasped his hands in her own. "Oh we were so scared, Harry! When you were hit by that Bludger! It reminded me so much of that match in third year when you fell of your broom!"

Ron paled and bit his lip, mirroring Hermione's expression and gazing at Harry too.

"Yeah, I mean, that Bludger nailed you pretty damn hard and by the time I saw Crabbe hit it at you, it was too late and I couldn't..." he gave a shudder and a weak smile. "Lucky Malfoy's such a selfish prat, huh?"

Harry's stomach churned and he felt as if a bucket of ice had been dumped onto his head.

Malfoy.

_Oh crap. Oh shit. Oh christ. Oh GOD._

Images of the past night began to replay inside his head, unknown to the other two people standing a foot away from him. He began to feel dangerously lightheaded, nauseated, he was going to hurl. He clamped his hand over his mouth.

"Harry! Harry? What's wrong?"

"Harry, mate!"

Two pairs of hands grabbed him by the shoulder to steady his shaking and Harry tried to calm himself; inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...

"I-I'm fine," he managed after a minute, opening his eyes again. "Just a bit dizzy..."

"You should sleep for a bit more, Madam Pomfrey will have our heads if she finds you like this." Hermione pulled the sheets up to his chin and tucked him in in a motherly fashion, feeling his forehead to check his temperature. But the sudden contact on his scar made him flinch and shy away and Hermione stared at him in surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry!" she apologized clamantly. "Your head must still be sore from yesterday -"

"Do you need anything? Potion? Chocolate? Pomfrey left you a chunk if you want some -" Ron offered pointing at the overlarge block of dark chocolate sitting on his nightstand.

Harry blushed and shook his head.

"I - I'm fine. Really."

At that precise moment, Madam Pomfrey came bustling in, her many skirts bustling and her shoes click-clacking on the marble tiles.

"Ah, he's is awake, I see," she said brightly, pulling out her wand. She approached his bed looking slightly disapproving. "I've not a clue whether to call you lucky or unfortunate Mr. Potter. I have half the mind to reserve a bed in the hospital wing just for you, considering the number of days a school year you spend in here."

She tapped the wand to his head, waiting and then watched as a number appeared into the air.

"No fever, injuries seem to be healed, everything intact." She cut off a corner of the chocolate and handed it to him. "Eat this and you may be off Mr. Potter. Be thankful that you won't have to miss any classes."

Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it, his heart sinking rapidly.

"I - I have to leave already?" he asked timidly.

"Well if there's nothing wrong with you, I don't see why you have to stay in here a minute longer than you need to," Madam Pomfrey admonished. "Quickly now, eat the chocolate and make yourself ready for class. I believe you only have fifteen more minutes."

Ron reached into his bookbag and pulled out a stack of black cloth, a white shirt, a clean pair of boxers, and a lumpy ball that looked like one of his old socks that used to belong to Uncle Vernon.

"We brought your stuff, just in case," Hermione said, shrugging off the second bookbag that had been slung on her shoulder. "Good thing we did."

"Right, so we'll be just outside waiting, alright mate?" Ron said, nodding toward the curtains surrounding his bed.

"Sure..." Harry replied unenthusiastically, taking the change of clothing from Ron and climbing out of bed. He'd just noticed that he was wearing one of the school's spare bed clothes that Madam Pomfrey provided all her patients. It was a tad too small around the cuffs.

When the curtains had closed, he quickly took off his pajamas, shivering from the frigid air and slipped into his white shirt, black trousers, socks, and outer robe, struggling with his tie one-handedly and trying to comb his hair and flatten it at the same time. He knew he probably looked extremely ruffled, but he was in a hurry and he didn't really care anyway.

When he was fully clothed and ready, he put on his trainers, slung his bag over his shoulder dejectedly and casting one last look at his disheveled bed, joined his two friends outside the curtains.

"Ready?" Hermione asked, readjusting her bag and smiling.

"S'ppose so," Harry replied with a shrug. What was the point of staying in bed anyhow? "What classes do we have today?"

Ron made a face. "Potions," he said distastefully. "Double. With the Slytherins."

Harry's step faltered, and he almost bit his tongue.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Ron rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Can't get any worse than that, can it?"

"I would have thought after yesterday, you would have at least _tried_ to reconsider this whole ridiculous hate-fest," Hermione said reprovingly, frowning. "Don't you think school rivalry is childish?"

"He only did that because he thought he would benefit from it," snorted Ron. "Said so himself."

"But that still doesn't make the fact he saved Harry any different, does it?" she chided.

"Yes it does."

Hermione threw her hands up into the air. "Oh for goodness' sake! I give up!"

Ron grinned, faking a look of relief. "Finally! Thought that day would never come!"

Harry though, was too deeply immersed in his own thoughts to pay much attention to the banter taking place beside him.

Last night. Draco Malfoy had been there. They'd talked.

And then, they'd done more than that. Much more than that.

Or had they?

Harry's heart was thudding inside his chest and cold sweat moistened his brow.

What if that hadn't been real? A dream? A phantasm in his mind? With each step he took toward the impending doom of Snape's dungeon, he began to convince himself that Malfoy's appearance had very well been simply an illusion. The very idea of Malfoy watching over him through the night was laughable, and then that - that _kiss_? That was even more preposterous. What was he thinking even considering it to have been real? It was sick, twisted, wrong, and... Harry shook himself fiercely, intent on forgetting that image of Malfoy's face so flushed and confused. Oh, and that feel of his warm, supple lips grazing his own. And that tingling touch of his smooth finger on his scar. Yes. All of that. Every single one of those sensations. Forget. KILL. DIE.

Not looking at where he was going, he crashed into the wall right before the sharp turn into the winding staircase leading to the lower levels.

"Harry!" both Ron and Hermione shouted in alarm.

"I'm alright!" he mumbled, face growing scarlet. "Just a bit dizzy still -"

"Come on, Harry." Hermione took hold of one of his arms and she signaled for Ron to do the same on his other side. Harry struggled to release himself but their grasps were firm.

"Guys - I'm fine! You don't have to hold me like I'm blind or anything!" he said desperately, feeling embarrassed and definitely not wanting the rest of the school to see him like this. "I said I'm FINE!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter, for making such a racket in the corridors," a greasy voice hissed form behind them. All three whipped around to face an especially lurid looking Professor Snape. "And ten more for not being in the classroom before the bell." He swept past them with a sneer and strode down the rest of the hall swiftly before disappearing through the door on their right.

"That bloody slimeball! He just docked points because of yesterday's match! Totally unfair I tell you!" Ron spat, finally letting go of Harry and stuffing his hands moodily into his robe pockets. "Just glad you're a hell of a good Seeker, Harry. I mean -" he turned to him. "That catch yesterday was unbelievable! You could've _died_!"

"You have definitely got to get your priorities straightened out, Harry," Hermione nodded, half exasperatedly, half in awe. "You really could have been injured terribly pulling a stunt like that. What in the world were you thinking?"

Harry blinked, very much confused.

"What are you talking about?" he asked uncertainly.

"Well, it was so quick that we didn't actually _see_ you catch it, but when you landed, it was definitely in your hand and the whole crowd went bonkers!" Ron said excitedly, and Harry could see that he was replaying the game in his head. "You and Malfoy were right next to each other, and then all the sudden, Crabbe knocks a Bludger at you and it throws you off your broom. We all thought it'd knocked you out but apparently you were still conscious enough to catch the Snitch that was hovering behind your head. And then Malfoy, who thought he could take advantage of the situation, grabbed your hand and tried to steal the Snitch from you, but you were holding on pretty tightly to the little bugger," Ron's grin widened proudly. "And I bet Malfoy was furious when he realized that he wasn't able to steal the Snitch AND on top of it all, he SAVED your life!"

Harry felt his heart leaped into his mouth.

"_What_?" he cried out much too loudly.

"Yeah! Unbelievable or what?" Ron beamed.

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed them toward the open door of the Potions classroom. Harry dug his heels into the floor and clung onto one of the protruding stones in the outer wall, eyes nearly popping from their sockets.

"HE _WHAT_?" he shouted again.

"He what, what?" Ron asked, looking bewildered at being screamed at.

"Harry, Ron! We're going to be late for class!" Hermione hissed through her teeth. "We can't afford to lose any more points today!"

"Yeah, I'll tell you all about it later, okay, mate?" Ron offered, stepping toward the door. "Maybe at lunch or something."

Harry stared after them, bug-eyed as they disappeared through the doorway.

No way in HELL could that be true, Harry swore in his mind. First the illusion during the night, and then this? Harry grabbed his head his hands and prodded his temples roughly. _Snap out of it. Snap out of it!_ He threatened himself.

The bell gave a piercing ring and Harry jumped a foot into the air.

The day was not starting out a good day. Not at all.

He took a deep breath and forced his legs to step across the threshold of the cold, dark classroom, eyes focused at his feet.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Potter, and twenty more if you don't seat yourself in the next five seconds."

Flushing, he hurried down the aisle and collapsed into his usual chair next to Ron. Ron was eyeing him questioningly, mouthing 'But you were right behind me-' and Harry buried his face into the desk and didn't bother looking up even when Snape commenced with the role call.

Snape went on to explain the assignment they would be doing that day, and to Harry's greatest relief, it didn't have anything to do with talking, or looking up from his desk. He busied himself in the thirty page reading assignment, followed by an in-class essay, and only once did he tear himself away from his book and parchment to pick up the quill he'd dropped over the side of his desk.

"... Harry?" Ron whispered out of the corner of his mouth, eyes fixed on his on book. "You okay?"

Harry nodded silently and went back to his work.

A few minutes later,

"Why's Malfoy looking at you all weird? It's unnerving -"

Harry felt his quill tremble in his fingers but he took a deep breath and redipped his quill in the ink bottle.

"Probably thinking of a good hex to use on me the next chance he's got," he replied in an undertone. He hoped Ron would just shut up and let him concentrate on his work at hand. He noticed that Ron had been on the same page for the past twenty minutes.

"Yeah, probably," snorted Ron and fell silent once more.

The longest ninety minutes he'd ever had to endure passed at the pace of a snail and Harry's right hand was aching as if it'd been bludgeoned by a Beater's bat by the time the bell rung, announcing the end of class.

Not caring if his parchment ripped, or his inkbottle spilled, he stuffed everything haphazardly back into his bookbag and dragged Ron and Hermione out of the classroom before they could even get their own things properly packed.

"Harry - wait!" Hermione said, yanking her arm away to fix the clasp on her bag.

"Yeah, what's the rush?" Ron asked, trying not to drop anything as he crammed them into his own bag while they walked. "We've got Divination next - you can't be _that_ eager to get to it, can you?"

Anything but Potions, a voice in Harry's mind pleaded.

"Um, no - sorry guys. I just uh - it was stuffy in there and I couldn't breath properly... must be a coming cold or something..." he faked a cough and thumped his chest with his fist.

"We can stop by the hospital wing to get you some pepperup potion at lunch," said Hermione.

"Yeah, I think I might do that..." Harry nodded.

"Well, we should start heading up already," Ron said with a sigh. "Curse the old fraud for choosing an attic for a classroom. Come on."

"I'll see you at lunch!" Hermione smiled and waved as she started off in the other direction for her Arithmancy class.

"Later -" the two boys called back to her and they made their way up the endless sets of staircases with the regular group of Gryffindor sixth years.

The oval classroom was fuming with steam and strong scents when they entered and after that tiring climb of nine stories, the room was stifling and much too hot. Despite Professor Trelawney's rules about keeping the windows closed during lesson hours, most of the students cracked them open anyway, clinging to the sills and fanning themselves with their homework.

No sooner had the cool air begun to breeze into the classroom, than Professor Trelawney emerged from her usual dark corner, wrapped excessively in stringy shawls and bangly bracelets and her trademark bottle-cap glasses magnifying her eyes to twice their normal size. She looked especially misty today, and Harry knew that nothing good could ever come from that.

He was right.

"Good morning, my dear class," she sighed as she lowered herself slowly into her overstuffed armchair.

"Good morning, Professor," came a chorus of dull replies.

"My classroom feels rather nice today, does it not?" she asked, smiling her bizarre smile and looking out over the heads of the students.

"Yeah, thanks to the open windows," Ron muttered under his breath with a snort.

"Perfect I think, for what we will be doing today..." Professor Trelawney folded her hands together and beamed. "I have decided to give in to the many pleas of my pupils, and teach you the more abstract arts of Divination. It's less reliable then the regular palmistry and crystal gazing and tea leaves, but fairly accurate enough in most cases." She hummed, looking uncharacteristically girly. "Would anyone like to guess what this might be?"

Lavender and Parvati, who were giggling madly, raised their hands almost instantly.

"Yes, Miss Patil?" Trelawney gestured with an exaggerated flourish of her hand.

"Is it the -" she giggled again and clapped her hand over her mouth. "Compatibilions?" Lavender giggled too.

Harry and Ron, and rest of the class, rolled their eyes.

"Marvelous," Trelawney nodded, giving them another loony smile. "Absolutely correct. _Compatibilions_." A dramatic pause.

Everyone except for Parvati and Lavender stared blankly at Professor Trelawney.

"Oh dear," the professor sighed as if she were faced to dealing with a handful of uneducated five year-olds. "I see we females are more intellectual when it comes to matters like these." Lavender and Parvati beamed, blushing.

"_Compatibilions_, dear boys! Have you never heard of it before? Or considered to acquire it's usefulness in matters of great tribulation?" she was practically wringing her hands as she gazed at the class with wide eyes.

Everyone just continued to stare back at her. Some were even polite enough to shake their heads.

"I'm sure at your blooming ages, all of you have thought about the opposite sex in a manner of ardent desire?" she pressed on and slowly, one by one, the rest of the class began to 'oh' and look back at her in a terrified way. Ron's face contorted and he turned to Harry, obviously horrified too.

"Manner of ardent desire?" he grimaced, sticking out his tongue. "I won't be able to look at another girl again..."

For some reason, Harry wasn't feeling too ecstatic either. In fact, he was dreading what he knew was coming. He didn't know why, because a rational voice told him that this might actually help his relationship with Cho, but then a voice dark and sulky told him that it would make things embarrassing, unwanted, and complicated. Far from helping, it would destroy whatever he'd managed to rebuild with Cho, if anything.

And why the hell was Malfoy's face smirking at him from the corner of his mind?

Harry's scandalous expression brought a slightly grave look to Ron's face; the same look that he kept getting during their fight in the boy's dormitories on Saturday.

He groaned inwardly as Ron quickly shifted his gaze, frowning and Harry tried to mend it all by looking bored, but to to his frustration, the shrewd look on Ron's face seemed to be permanent for the meanwhile.

Harry could have cursed the old bug into oblivion when she announced to the rest of the class that she would be using Harry as an example for the task they were all to complete.

"Let us hope that Harry Potter has _something_ going on his life, shall we?" Harry was furious to find out that Trelawney had a very disconcerting sense of humor. He was neither laughing along with the rest of the class or feeling happy about being put on display at all. And the horror of her revealing something terribly humiliating was ever present as she drew up a chair between him and Ron, promptly ignored Ron and turned to him with a batty smile on her face.

"Dear, boy -" she began leaning toward him and swaying meditatively. She examined his face deliberately, frowning and making agreeable noises in her throat. "Yes, yes... Ah... mmhm... clearly that much is obvious... oh? Interesting..."

Harry pursed his lips, feeling his temper rising in his chest.

"Ahah... but of course..." she murmured, fingering his scar and making him recoil from her cold touch. "There, we see? As I thought... and that would mean..."

'Done yet?' he felt like snapping at Trelawney but managed to keep his mouth from flying open by chewing on his cheek.

"Such a tragedy, such a poor, poor, boy," she finally simpered, shaking her head and making her bead necklaces clank loudly through the deadly silent room. Everyone was leaning forward intently in their seats. Harry flushed.

"Not much a of a libido, has he?" Seamus chirped up with a snicker from his left and a smack sounded as Dean hit him upside the head.

"My dear boy," she repeated again, looking as if she were talking to someone who had only twenty-four hours to live.

"You see the grim?" Harry asked sardonically, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. He heard Ron snort from beside him and sent him a grin.

"Quite as tragic perhaps..." she shook her head for the second time and Harry wondered if she was purposefully _trying_ to make an idiot of him. "You see, you possess a future that could be ultimately fulfilling in every desirous aspect; someone that loves you, brings happiness to your heart, holds you close to their own..." Harry frowned, apprehensive. "BUT, you are foolish indeed and let your ignorance get the better of you. You pass this fork in the road without knowing that you are and you begin to lead a lonely, solitary life without anyone to care for you or love you. You are a hermit in it's shell, a miserable being left to whittle away his life notch by notch, pointlessly, hopelessly..."

"Oooohhhh," there came little sobbing sighs from the two girls sitting at the front of the class and they were staring at Harry with wide watery eyes. "That is so romantically tragic..." Lavender whispered, brushing the corner of her eye with her finger. "That would make such a fantastic story if then, in end, when he's lost all hope, someone comes and sweeps him off his feet..."

Parvati sighed. "That _would_ be such a perfect love story..."

Harry's eye twitched. "I'm not a bloody girl -" he ground out angrily, but no one heard him.

"Although of course, I'm sure it's too late for you, dear, I can see clearly that if you hadn't made this devastating mistake somewhere in your past, you would be one of the happiest souls alive on this earth," she smiled almost gleefully. "But I shan't get your hopes up for nothing."

"But maybe I could help him change his future?" Seamus spoke up again, and Harry was about ready to knock his brains out. "Fate _can_ be changed, right? I read it somewhere that we could in here..." he began to flip through his book, brows knitted.

"Yes, some fates can be avoided, if one took the right precautions, but I'm afraid Mr. Finnigan, that you cannot help him in any way. Or any of you for that matter." Professor Trelawney look pleased at this fact.

"Why is that professor?" Lavender asked, curiously. "Is he incurable?"

"Does he have a sickness?"

Harry's fists clenched beneath the table.

"Well, of sorts, yes," Trelawney said airily. "He has a penchant for pain and suffering, for one thing, and the only soul that could help change this fate of his, would be the one destined soul of his love -" she paused dramatically again, and the whole room held it's breath. "A _love of the enemy._"

There were collective gasps, whistles, exchanges of befuddled looks, disbelieving stares, and Harry felt his whole face plunging into a deep scarlet. He felt sick too.

"Does that mean he's going to join You - You - Know - Who?" Lavender whispered fearfully, her hands over her mouth.

"Is he going to become a Death Eater?" Parvati asked, pointing a finger rudely at Harry.

Harry glanced at Ron pleadingly, hoping that Ron would at least stand by his side and deny him of all these unfair accusations, but to his dismay, Ron's eyes were uncertain, and the redhead was gazing at him with the same disbelief that was etched across everyone else's faces.

That was about the last thread for Harry. His anger could no longer be contained inside him and it exploded with such a fury as he'd never shown to anyone besides Dumbledore.

His pouf fell over with a dull crash and the room was silent once more.

"I was wondering when you were going to start guessing that!" he bellowed, his voice filling the room deafeningly. "And guess what? You're all bleeding right! I enjoy pain beyond anything and my plan is to join Voldemort as soon as I graduate - if he doesn't kill me first!" he snorted disgustedly and snatched up his bookbag from the floor. " And this class is a bunch of dung, just like you!" he turned to Professor Trelawney for his last explosion, knowing fully well that he was going to receive the worst punishment ever, if not face an expulsion from Hogwarts, for talking in that manner toward a teacher.

"And Ron -" he whirled around to face his so-called best friend. "Thanks for being such a great mate. I'm sure you couldn't have done any better."

Finished with his ranting, he stormed over to the trapdoor, kicked it open and descended out of the classroom feeling relieved and frightened of his own daring at the same time. His body was still shaking as he stomped down the long staircase leading back to the seventh floor corridor, not a clue as to where he was going.

He passed Flitwick's office, the portrait of the Fat Lady, the Owlery, and an ancient suit of armor who's rusty head creaked as it's gaze followed Harry.

"What are you staring at?" He snarled at it and then continued on down the corridor, his bookbag swinging wildly and banging against the wall at every few intervals. "Bloody insane! The whole lot of them!"

He took a sharp turn at the end of the corridor when he realized that there was no where else to go and found himself in a narrow corridor only dimly lit by the small lamps on the walls on either sides. He recognized where he was headed for immediately and felt a sudden rush of relief. Yes, it would be the perfect place to cool off for the remainder of the class time. No one to disturb him, maybe even a few butterbeers to help with the calming...

His footsteps echoed strangely as he finally approached the little widened area of the corridor where one wall was completely blank, and the other wall had a portrait of Barnabas the Barmy and his troop of trolls. He'd been here so often that it felt natural to pace before that blank wall three times, concentrating hard on the kind of place fit for his current state of mind.

Seconds later, a door had materialized out of nowhere; a large arched oak door with a great many significant looking carvings that he never bothered to look at closely, and he grabbed the gold knob and pushed open the door.

A small room, with a crackling fire, a comfortable looking couch, a tray of assorted sweets that made his empty stomach rumble, and a cart of butterbeer bottles, just waiting to be devoured.

Throwing his bag careless onto the floor next to the door, he strode over to the long couch and collapsed onto it, snatching up a turkey sandwich from the tray and biting into it hungrily. He grabbed the neck of a bottle and uncapping it effortlessly with his thumb (a talent acquired after many years), took a long, deep gulp of it and sighed contentedly.

He finished off the sandwich in three bites and then settled himself more comfortably into the couch with a hand behind his head, ready to doze off for a bit.

"So this is where the infamous Harry Potter spends his idle hours. I thought it was just a dueling room," a voice broke the pleasant silence.

Harry's eyes snapped open, and the bottle in his finger slipped and clunked onto the floor, the amber liquid seeping slowly into the clean rug.

He sat up and found Draco Malfoy leaning against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips.


	5. Vanilla, Mint, and the Bitterness of Cof...

**The Amour  
**_Prequel to The Amourette_

**Rated  
**_R_

**Disclaimer  
**Can I say, rated R?  
Anyway, I leave it up to you to decide whether or not you think I own Harry Potter after reading this chapter:) You might wish I did, cuz I wish I did.

* * *

**• Chapter Five •  
**_Vanilla, Mint, and the Bitterness of Coffee  
_

"**M**ALFOY!" Harry squeaked, his throat going dry and feeling as if someone had placed their hands around it, squeezing his air canal shut. He toppled unceremoniously from the couch and lay in a heap on the floor.

"Smooth, Potter," Malfoy said, raising his eyebrows in amusement. "You could be training for a circus and I wouldn't be the least surprised."

Harry felt the heat rising in his cheeks and he scrambled to right himself.

"MALFOY!" He spluttered again, his coherent train of thought completely lost.

"My, your vocabulary seems to have shrunk a great deal," the blonde frowned.

"What are you DOING in here?" he blurted out, staring back and forth between Malfoy and the closed door in shock. "How did you -"

"I have special powers, Potter. I can glide through walls like a ghost."

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"You'll catch flies Potter. Of course I can't _glide through walls._ Did you honestly believe that?" Malfoy asked incredulously. "And I thought you couldn't get any thicker," he mumbled. "I was in the Owlery sending a letter when a tornado rampaged past me. I decided to see if I could entertain myself with it until lunch."

Harry made a strangled noise that was meant to be a protest. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to hex Malfoy more, or flee from the room as fast as he could. With Malfoy here before him, so obviously real, he couldn't be sure that the events of last night had been a nightmare. It was the same smirk, the same gleam of mischief, the same glistening lips. Harry's heart was thundering in his ear so loudly that he could hardly hear what Malfoy was saying and could only read the drawling movements of those lips.

"Did you hear me, Potter?" Malfoy asked sharply, waving his hand. Harry was jolted out of his reverie and he realized a moment too late, that his bag was by the door, and his wand was inside his bag. He usually kept it in his pocket but he'd been so upset leaving Snape's classroom that he'd stuffed in there along with everything else.

"I said I wanted to talk," Malfoy repeated slowly, as if calculating Harry carefully.

Harry's veins throbbed. "A - about what?" Why was he so nervous? Malfoy couldn't possibly know about his dream, could he? It wasn't like he could read people's minds... _Unless he's a Legilimens! _He thought frantically. He tried to remember what Snape had taught him back in fifth year, clearing his mind, expelling obtrusive thoughts, fighting against the intruder...

"What the fuck are you doing now? You look constipated."

Harry opened his eyes. This clearly wasn't working. His mind was too chaotic. Too loud. Too much Malfoy.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself, Potter. I just want to talk." Malfoy seemed to hesitate before taking a step toward him. Harry scrambled back onto the couch, eyeing Malfoy warily.

"I heard that -" he said jerkily. "A- about what?"

Malfoy looked startled for a split second before drawing in a low breath.

"Are you serious?" he said quietly, his voice sharp.

Harry felt dizzy. "Why wouldn't I be?" He'd never been so serious in his life. This was hardly a situation he found funny.

"So you're telling me, you don't know what I want to talk about?" Malfoy said, articulating each word clearly. Harry nodded slowly.

"So you've no memory -" Malfoy paused, licking his lips. "Of what happened last night?"

_Oh god..._ Harry's stomach felt like a bottomless pit, his heart had completely stopped beating, and he could only gape back at Malfoy, _knowing_ that he had misheard him.

"L - last night?" he mouthed, choking on mere air.

Malfoy's look of disbelief turned into that of suspicion and Harry did his best to keep his fear from showing on his face.

"Yes... _last night_. You were sleeping in the infirmary, and I was there next to you..."

Harry gulped. "You - you were?" he feigned a look of unknowingness.

"Uhuh, and we talked... about lots of things," Malfoy took another step closer, less tentatively.

"We did?"

"Oh sure, lots of things. Like You-Know-Who and Dark Marks and Death Eaters."

Harry couldn't have moved an inch even if he'd wanted to. His body was frozen and glued to corner of the couch he was scrunched up in. Malfoy was steadily coming closer, with each word he spoke, and whether or not the slight swagger in his hips was intentional or not, Harry couldn't guess, but the way Malfoy walked was... he recoiled and willed himself to jump over the back of the couch and hide, only his body didn't respond in the least.

"And then you told me to go away, to leave you alone. But I didn't," Malfoy stopped when he was only two feet away. Harry had to tilt his neck upwards to look at him. The blond then slowly lowered himself onto his knees. His movements were fluid, like silk, and soundless.

"And then you want to know what happened?" a whisper passed Malfoy's lips which were barely moving and Harry shivered. No. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know what happened after that...

He closed his eyes tightly and clamped his hands over his ears.

Not listening! Not listening! Not liste -

"This."

And that familiar feel of warm lips pressed against his, just as gently as the first time, a simple touch of warm skin against warm skin, sending a thousand sparks shooting up and down his spine.

He let out a muffled gasp and let go of his ears to grasp at the cushions on either side of him to keep himself from falling backwards.

And then, a warm, wet tongue slid across his bottom lip and despite his mind's screams of protest, his mouth opened involuntarily, and the tongue entered past his lips, exploring every crevice in his mouth hungrily, sucking onto his own tongue, as if challenging it to a passive duel.

Stop... he wanted to plead, but his voice was lost except for the weak moan that escaped his throat.

Malfoy was skillful with his lips and tongue, and all Harry could do was sit there immobile with his knuckle-white hands clenched tightly onto the soft cushions, his gut flipping and aching with want. Malfoy tasted of so many things... vanilla, mint, a faint bitterness of coffee...

He was almost afraid to kiss back, afraid because he thought that if he made any awkward movements, that warmth would leave him. He was so caught up in the moment, that he didn't even notice that Malfoy's hands had reached up to gently caress his shoulders, pushing him back slowly, slowly until his back landed on the armrest cushion and the seat was sinking even lower with the weight of two people.

The hands continued to massage every ache in his body, every knot in his muscles, running over his neck so lightly that it felt like air more than anything. Hot, swollen lips trailed after them, leaving an invisible path of burning kisses and then biting tenderly into the flesh of his pulsepoint. Harry groaned and bit his lip, his back arching in response.

He felt fingers swiftly undoing the buttons of his shirt, tugging impatiently at the loose knot in his tie. Hands were soon touching his naked chest, running up and down his arms as if memorizing every inch of his raw skin. That hard pain in in his lower regions could only mean one thing; that he was aroused by Malfoy kissing him, touching him so sensually, so erotically.

"Oh god..." he gasped when Malfoy's lips captured his nipple, teasing it leisurely with his teeth and circling his tongue playfully around the sensitive skin. His hips twitched upwards, yearning for more. More contact. More skin. More everything.

Malfoy's lips then returned to his mouth again and once more, their bodies were perfectly aligned, flush up against each other. Malfoy was propped on his elbow, one hand tangled deeply in Harry's hair and the other tracing patterns on Harry's abdomen, tickling the the patch of skin under his navel and just above the waistband of his boxers that were peeking out from his trouser belt.

A knee slid upwards between Harry's legs, grazing against his thighs and up until it was pressed firmly against Harry's crotch, where his erection was far from unnoticeable. Harry moaned and bit down onto Malfoy's lip, letting his hands grab onto Malfoy's thin upper arms shakily, to steady himself. His breathing became shallow and harsh each time Malfoy's knee pressed up against his painful erection, and somewhere inside his head, he knew that he wouldn't last if he let this go on. Tearing his lips away desperately, he gasped for much needed oxygen, his own hand keeping Malfoy's knee at bay.

"Off -" he breathed, fumbling feverishly with Malfoy's green tie, and rumpled shirt. His fingers were hardly able to get the first button undone and so Malfoy had to sit up and undo them himself, tossing the crumpled mass of cloth over his shoulder when he stripped his torso completely.

"Fuck..." Harry heard himself saw when he was able to see Malfoy's smooth, pale chest and sharply jutting collarbones for the first time. Malfoy was thinner than Harry. He wasn't as muscular, or angular, and that, Harry thought was perfection in itself. He touched Malfoy slowly, running his hands down the flat chest, around the pale nipples, making Malfoy suppress a moan between his lips, and then back up the the narrow shoulders that were straining from being held up on such thin arms for so long.

The next thing he knew, he'd flipped Malfoy over onto his back, breathing uneven breaths and pressing the blond into couch.

Malfoy stared up at him with half-lidded eyes of surprise, his own breathing ragged.

Their lips crashed together again, drowning out any thought or speech that might have been uttered and Harry straddled Malfoy's hips, taking his turn to taste the slightly salty skin sheathed in a light gleam of perspiration. The fast beating of Malfoy's heart reverberated through his lips and swept such an arousing emotion through him that he couldn't help but press his body closely against the one below him.

The faint clinking of metal and the tugging at his hips told him that Malfoy was undoing the clasp of his belt. He groaned, urging Malfoy to hurry up. His erection needed to be released so badly...

Moist hands slipped past his waistband easily, and wrapped themselves around Harry's length and Harry let out a loud gasp, his hips bucking forward uncontrollably.

"Oh god -" he gasped, biting his lip so hard that he was drawing blood.

Malfoy's hand began to pump up and down, slowly at first, and then gradually quickening it's pace to quick, sharp jerks that sent Harry's mind reeling with pleasure. He rocked his hips in sync with the movement of Malfoy's hand, pressing his forehead to Malfoy's.

"Oh god - fuck - stop -" he gasped, trying hard to ignore the _'more, more, don't ever stop!'_ being screamed inside his head. He didn't want to reach his climax now. He didn't want to come before Malfoy.

Malfoy's hand stopped, still wrapped tightly around his length and Harry tried to look at Malfoy in the eyes without faltering. He was close to the edge now, anything rash and he would surely be too far gone to stop...

Malfoy's eyes were dilated, and dazed. He was staring back at Harry expectantly, waiting for the cue to continue.

Harry reached down slowly, gingerly unwrapping Malfoy's fingers from his erection and carefully entwined them with his own and bringing them up to rest on the cushion beside Malfoy's head.

"Let's... go slowly..." Harry murmured shyly, sighing weakly and letting his cheek brush against Malfoy's. "Please?"

Malfoy nodded in understanding, turning his head to meet his lips to Harry's.

Harry kissed back hesitantly, feeling somewhat less anxious, even though his erection was aching to be relieved of it's load. The kiss started up gently again, passionate, and slow. Malfoy was placing kisses along his jaw - now on his chin and it made butterflies flutter in Harry's stomach. It wasn't so hot and febrile anymore, but it sent a different kind of fire through Harry's veins; the kind that made him beg silently for this moment to last for as long as possible.

Malfoy's hand was running through the disheveled hair on the back of his head, stroking softly and playing with strands between his fingers. Harry didn't know why, but he smiled slightly into the warm kiss, bliss taking over his mind, inch by inch. He sucked gently on Malfoy's lips, one of his hands still interlaced with the other, pale hand that was so much softer than his and beautiful.

It was almost frightening in a way, how quickly he'd given in to the needs of his body. Was it even possible to imagine what he'd have thought a day ago, if someone had told him he'd be having a snog with Malfoy in less than twenty-four hours? He knew he didn't love Malfoy though. He didn't believe in love at first sight, and hardly thought that one passionate encounter was enough to strike Cupid's arrow to the heart. Malfoy was aesthetic and a damn good kisser, which was probably the only reason he had fallen in this pit in the first place. Whether this first time would also turn out to be the last time, was just as much of a mystery to Harry as Malfoy was. Maybe later, when they were both cooled off, they'd suddenly realize what they'd done and be disgusted by it - after all, they hadn't been Hogwarts worst pair of rivals for five whole years for nothing.

A light kiss was placed on his nose and he felt Malfoy stirring underneath him. Not deliberately, as if to provoke his erection, but as if to sit up. Harry hastily lifted himself off of Malfoy's body, hoping he hadn't been squashing him, and sat awkwardly onto the farthest cushion seat so that Malfoy could place his feet on the ground.

"Care for a shower?" Malfoy asked with a smile, a real one that made Harry's insides grow warm.

Yes, he would care for a shower, which in fact sounded great, but he hadn't been thinking of a shower when he'd conjured up this room, unfortunately.

"But there isn't one," he noted, blushing slightly.

"Oh really? Than what do you suppose it means by 'bathroom'?" Malfoy asked, mock-thoughtfully, nodding over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned his head, confused and saw a door that had a sign next to it. 'Bathroom' it read.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed sheepishly. "Well, it wasn't there before."

"Well this is a special room isn't it?" Malfoy asked, leaning forward to tease Harry's lips with his breath, barely kissing him.

"Yeah..." Harry whispered, voice croaking. "It's the Room of Require..." he couldn't help but close the distance between them to taste Malfoy's taunting lips again.

"Come on then," Malfoy pulled Harry up from the couch and wrapping his hands lightly around Harry's neck, began leading him backward toward the door. They were attached at the lips the whole way, and Malfoy had to grope for the doorknob blindly with a free hand. They helped each other strip off their pants and only when they broke away to start the shower, did Harry's breath hitch in his throat at the sight of Malfoy's erect cock. It was perfect, touchable, just like the rest of him, and he wanted to make the blonde come so badly that for a moment, he was about to forget the new agreement completely.

Slowly, Harry.

When Malfoy's arms snaked their way around his neck again, pulling him close under the cascading water, Harry groaned. Their lengths rubbed against one another's so suddenly that it was all Harry could do to keep himself from coming then and there. Malfoy bent his head, resting his forehead on Harry's shoulder and Harry could feel the breath on his skin shallowing and quivering. Harry was mesmerized by the pearly beads of water that trickled down from Malfoy's dampened hair, down his neck, his smooth shoulders... he caught the drops with his tongue and kissed Malfoy's neck.

"Harry," Malfoy moaned softly, pressing up against him so that Harry's back was against the cold tile of the wall.

Harry spread his legs just enough to let Malfoy's lower half fit between them, to get as much contact as possible.

"Oh god, oh _god_..." Harry gasped when he felt fingers wrapping around him again. But this time, he needed it so much that he didn't (couldn't possibly) protest against it. He thrust his hips against Malfoy's and shuddered with pleasure when Malfoy thrust back against him, removing his hand and placing them on either side of Harry's head against the slick wall. Their thrusts were fumbling at first, struggling to agree on the right rhythm, but it wasn't long until the rhythm grew steady and Malfoy's body was moving flush with Harry's. Thrust for thrust.

Compulsive moans were escaping Malfoy's throat, mixed with gasps and calls of his name that made Harry's thrusting more urgent, and less controlled.

"Fuck - Harry!" Malfoy said desperately, and Harry didn't care that his hair was being fisted tightly. His own nails were digging into Malfoy's back, and a huge wave of intoxicating madness swept through his body, making him shudder violently and cry out in ecstasy.

He was shuddering until his climax subdued completely, and he slumped back against the wall, chest heaving so heavily he was having trouble breathing. He swallowed a good many times and it took great strength to untangle his limp limbs from Malfoy, and it was then that he noticed that Malfoy had come too, sometime during his own orgasm.

The rain of water was quickly washing away the evidence of their slowly passing elation and even though his own arms were heavy, he instinctively reached out and caught Malfoy as he swayed dangerously on his feet, collapsing forward into Harry's chest.

"That was... unbelievable," Malfoy murmured in a slurred muffle, burying his nose into Harry's hair.

"Yeah..." was all Harry could manage then, even though he wished he could have had the energy to think of something more eloquent to describe what he felt about it. It was beyond unbelievable, that much he knew for sure.

For a few more timeless minutes, they stood there under the warm water, arms draped loosely around each other and enjoying the after sensation of that mind-blowing orgasm. Harry wondered if all orgasms were like this, because if they were, then he decided that it wouldn't be bad to earn them often.

Twenty minutes later, they had washed themselves, got back into their clothing, and gathered up their bags, ready to leave.

"We missed lunch, it looks like," Malfoy commented with a smirked, glancing at the clock sitting on one of the bookshelves on the far wall. "But I'd go for this over lunch anytime."

Harry blushed, hoisting the strap of his bag onto his shoulder. There was that vague awkwardness of a post-shag-with-the-enemy, but it was to be expected, Harry knew.

Malfoy gave Harry one last look-over, gave a tug at his slipshoden scarlet tie and with a simple nod, left the room and disappeared around the corner of the dim corridor.

Neither made any future promises, and neither felt they had to. A silent agreement, a silent plight, and they returned to their day with their customary attitudes.

Harry hid away his smile as he approached the double doors of the Great Hall, taking a deep breath, and entered without trepidation.


	6. The Troubel With Befriending a Celebrity

**The Amour  
**_Prequel to The Amourette  
No, this story (The Amour) isn't done yet! So don't read The Amourette until I tell you to!  
_

**Rated  
**_R_

**Disclaimer  
**_Speaking of Jo Rowling, has anyone seen the special Valentine clue she posted on her official website? I thought it was neat that she did that... she never clues us in on anything too deeply related to HP romance...  
Who's name do you think it was? (Other than your obsessive wish that it was Draco)._

**

* * *

**

**• Chapter Six •  
**_The Trouble With Befriending a Celebrity  
_

**I**f his encounter with Malfoy had proved of any use to Harry, it had to be that it'd helped to clear his doubts more than his talk with Hermione had ever accomplished. The problem he realized, hadn't been his ignorance of Cho's thoughts; it had been his ignorance of himself. Being who everyone wanted him to be, living up to their expectations, and finding comfort in things that never really brought him any comfort.

He'd felt obliged in a way, to welcome Cho with open arms because of who he was. So many people thought that it'd been his fault that Cedric had died, and Cho, he had been convinced, felt that way too. He was never the victim in any given situation, whether or not his life was at the tip of Voldemort's wand. He was destined to fight Voldemort, and fairytale heroes were never cowards. They faced their opponents with grim confidence, and whether they lived to tell the tale was not so much of importance as the story of the hero's life.

No, the victims in Harry Potter's stories were always the people around him; his friends, his classmates, his allies, his protectors. They were all there supporting him and risking their lives just by being within his circle. The last thing Harry wanted was to endanger his friends, but what could he do? He could either live through a filter that expressed all his faults as one perfect, likable savior of the wizarding world - or he could live without the filter and simply enjoy what remainder of his life he had. No regrets. No contradictions.

If it had been a day earlier, Harry would have been a nervous wreck when he entered the Great Hall where the second people caught sight of him, fervent whispers began to brew up a storm.

All the empty plates and goblets had been cleared and the students were sitting at their long tables, huddled together and in heated conversations.

For a split second, his fear of being shunned overtook him and he felt like turning on his heel and running back out where he wouldn't be able to see those wide and frightened eyes, or hear those disbelieving whispers that weren't really quiet enough to be called whispers.

He thought at first, that they might have somehow found out about him and Malfoy, but when he cast a fleeting glance over at the Slytherin table, Malfoy was sitting there as aloof as ever, listening with a bored expression as his housemates sniggered and sneered in Harry's direction. He quickly averted his gaze and setting a stony expression, made his way straight toward his friends at the table on the far right.

Ron's eyes met his briefly, before shifting uncomfortably but Hermione was watching him the whole time, a worried frown on her face.

He was aware of every eye on him, and he had absolutely no clue why.

"Why's everyone staring at me?" he whispered hesitantly when he slipped into the seat next to Hermione.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked, her look grave.

"Er -" Truthfully, he felt great inside - but she wasn't to know that.

"Well... I'd feel better if I knew why people are looking at me as though I'm about to murder someone..." he saw Parvati and Lavender sitting a few seats down, their heads bent closely with a few other girls and shooting glares at Harry every now and then.

Hermione pursed her lips dangerously at them and then turned softer eyes back to Harry.

"What happened in Divination?" she asked tentatively.

Harry's eyes widened, a sudden realization swamping him.

"Is THAT what everyone's whispering about?" he hissed, and then groaning and closing his eyes in pure disbelief. "I cannot believe this!"

"What did she do this time?" Hermione demanded sharply. "I'll strangle the old fraud..."

"Well if it's spread through the entire school, haven't you heard already?" asked Harry in exasperation. "Bleeding hell... I CANNOT believe this..."

Hermione frowned again. "Yes, but I refuse to listen to what anyone else says until I hear your version of events. Ron only told me that you'd stormed out of class and didn't return and then I got so worried because you didn't show up for lunch -"

This wasn't the time to be blushing now, Harry reprimanded himself severely.

"Trelawney's stupid fortune telling's got people thinking I'm really a spy for the Dark and that I'm off to sell myself to him after I graduate," Harry snorted, grimacing. "I bet those girls were a big help to the rumor."

"Oh that's ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed with a huff and her nostrils flared with anger. "The desperate things people cook up these days! They'll eat up anything! _Ronald Weasley_!" she turned in her seat to face a sulky Ron.

"You don't actually believe this _rubbish_, do you? If you say yes, I swear to Merlin I'll stupefy you!"

But Ron didn't reply. He was staring at something across the Hall with narrowed eyes, his lips a thin line.

Harry followed his gaze and came upon Cho who, he just noticed, had been trying to catch Harry's attention for a while it seemed.

Harry's stomach flip-flopped for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"Harry -" she mouthed, her brows knitted in concern.

One more burden was stacked upon Harry's already sagging shoulders as he looked back at her, biting his lip. What to do about Cho? He'd almost forgotten...

"I dunno, Hermione," Ron spoke up suddenly, his voice too loud and casual. "It's hard to be convinced when the odds are against him."

"Ron! You don't honestly mean that!" Hermione gasped, outraged. "Have you gone and knocked you head?"

Harry stared back at Ron, feeling betrayed and hurt. The expression on Ron's face told him that Ron didn't really believe the ludicrous rumors, only that he was still furious with Harry for some reason, but Harry thought that being this upset about Cho was going over the top. It seemed that Ron was using this rumor as an excuse to stay mad at Harry.

"You're a jerk, Ron," Harry said angrily, his temper snapping against his will. "Just because you don't have the _guts_ to be a guy and get a damn girlfriend, doesn't mean I'm going to take your crap in my face."

Ron's eyes shot wide open and then narrowed furiously.

"Harry!" Hermione said, shocked.

"You're only bitter because you're the last guy standing!" Harry went on, not knowing what was propelling him so unheedingly into dangerous waters.

Ron spluttered, cheeks burning even brighter than his hair.

"YOU - YOU -"

Hermione, who was caught between the two, leaned away with a frightened look in her eyes.

"Harry - Ron -" she pleaded, but neither were listening.

"I'm not fucking bitter!" Ron exploded. His eyes were murderous. "You think you're so much better than me just because you've got a scar tattooed onto your head -"

"You know that's not true!" Harry shouted, slamming his fist down onto the table, his voice rising with every word. "Keep me out of this! It's your bloody problem we're talking about! You can't stand being my friend because of who I am - well MAYBE you should have thought things through before befriending me on the first day of school!"

Ron shot out of his seat. "Befriended you? Are you saying that I befriended you just cuz you were a bloody celebrity?"

"I dunno Ron, maybe you did for all I know!"

"Well you have no clue how much I regret becoming friends with a bloated arsehole like you! You don't know what it's like living half your life in the shadow of someone the whole damn world worships like a god! I'm never half as good as you! I'm never noticed! Hell, I should officially change my name to 'Harry Potter's friend with the ugly freckles and the red hair' for all anyone would notice! And now you're trying to stuff your nasty sex life into my face just so you can laugh at me some more? That's just low, bloody, stinking _low -_"

"Fine then! Quit being my friend!" Harry spat, standing height to height with Ron and shooting the coldest glare he could muster. "I'll be able to breath freely knowing I'm not _friends_ with a prat that thinks every bloody thing is MY FAULT!" He snatched up his bag and unstraddled the bench.

"Harry!" Hermione said, as he turned and strode away toward the door. "Wait!"

But he didn't wait. He didn't stop walking. He didn't even care that everyone in the hall had gone silent at the explosive display between two formerly inseparable best friends.

"Ron!" he heard Hermione cry in anger. "You are SUCH a insufferable idiot!"

As he stormed through the empty corridors, fuming steam from the ears, he vaguely heard his name being called again. And again.

It was coming closer and fast footsteps were accompanying them.

"Go the hell away!" he shouted angrily, not turning around. "Leave me alone!"

"Harry - wait! Please!"

His arm was grabbed onto by a small hand and tugged him back.

Harry was suddenly nose to nose with a desperate looking Cho.

"Ch- CHO!" he exclaimed, eyes widening. He'd thought it was Hermione.

Cho held tightly onto his hand, her lips trembling.

"Harry - I just want you to know that I don't believe a word of it-" she gushed. "It's a stupid rumor, and I know you would never do anything of the sort -"

Harry pursed his lips. "Thanks, but I'm not really in the mood to talk right now." Cho gave him a hurt look, and he felt a pang of regret immediately. "I'm sorry," he muttered, lowering his gaze.

"Harry, you can talk to me you know? We're going to be there for each other when we need someone to talk to. I want to be there for you." Cho looked at him determinedly, her cheeks glowing pink.

Harry swallowed hard, knowing that what he was about to do was something he _had_ to do and that he couldn't keep up the façade any longer. It would destroy him if he didn't destroy it first. He took a deep breath.

"Cho," he said quietly, feeling helpless and unchangeable at the same time. "Listen - I don't want you to take this the wrong way - because it's not your fault -"

Cho raised her head questioningly, brown eyes faltering slightly.

"It's got nothing to do with you, honestly-" he stalled, feeling very uncomfortable. "But - I don't really think... that... it'llworkoutbetweenus."

Cho blinked, her cheeks paling.

"Wh - what?" she whispered.

"You and me," he said, pulling his hand away gently from Cho's slackened grasp. "I... I don't think it'll work out."

There was silence. A silence so perturbing that Harry wanted to just leave then and there and not wait for a response from her. He knew the tears would start any moment, and braced himself guiltily.

"B - but -" Cho's voice quivered in shock, looking at him as if she thought he was joking. "Why?"

Harry sighed, running a restless hand through his hair.  
_  
Honestly, Why?_ A voice asked inside his head, annoyed. _Is it because of Mal-_ **_NO. Of course not._** He countered the offensive thought instantly.

"Because..." he hesitated, "because I'm just not ready for - anything like that right now... I guess..." _Lame, lame, LAME excuse.  
_  
"How can you say that?" Cho began to sob, hands reaching out to Harry pleadingly. "Please take that back - please-"

Harry felt so awful that he was rendered speechless. He stood limply while Cho's grip on his sleeve shuddered with each tearful sob.

"I'm sorry, Cho," was all he could mutter, bitterly kicking himself mentally, over and over and over again. "I really am..."

"You j-just need t-to get used to i-it, Harry! Tr-trust me! You just n-need more t-time! I'll be patient! Just please don't say th-that -" she pulled him closer and tried to get him to look at her in the eye. Harry complied, although very reluctantly and immediately regretted it when their eyes met. He knew he was hurting her, and she didn't deserve to be hurt, but wouldn't he end up hurting her even more if they went on as if they were honestly meant to be? It wouldn't be real, that much he knew.

"Cho -" he tried weakly, easing away slowly. "Listen, you wouldn't be happy with me... there are lots of guys here that deserve someone like you a lot more than me. You're beautiful -" he blushed a little, thinking of how corny he probably sounded. "And you're kind, and you deserve someone just as good. I'm not like that, Cho."

Cho didn't look pleased at all. She eventually let him go and closed her eyes briefly, wiping away at her shining face with the palm of her hand.

She let out a shuddering breath and looked up again.

"So you won't reconsider this?" she asked, hiccuping.

Harry bowed his head, not knowing what else he could say that wouldn't hurt her.

"Okay..." her voice was curt, final. "I understand."

"Cho -"

"No. Don't say anything more," she held up her hand jerkily. "Thanks a lot Harry, for the wonderful date Saturday. You really helped me to realize who I was inside, and I'm just sorry that I bothered you with my petty problems."

"I never -"

"Goodbye, Harry."

"_Cho_ -"

But Cho turned on her heel and walked away back toward the Great Hall, not once looking back to his call. Harry groaned in frustration as the double doors thudded shut again and he kicked at the stone wall, cursing at himself.

"Dammit, you idiot - what did you just do?" he asked himself under his breath, rubbing his hand over his face. "You are so going to regret that..."

But oddly, apart from the frustration, he felt a bit lighter - as if that load had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders, and he felt foulhearted about it. It was a crude emotion, to know that he'd done what he felt was truly right, even if it meant hurting someone in a way he'd never really hurt anyone before.

But where did that put him now? Nowhere, it seemed - for he had less than what he'd started off with. He didn't have Cho, he didn't even have Malfoy, and the only thing he did have was the memory of a fantastic snog that would never happen again.

-

If Harry had thought that Ron would lose his attitude and become friendly now that he had once more returned to being a lonely blockhead, he was wrong. He, along with a good percentage of other people, kept away from Harry as if he had a bout of highly contagious measles. Despite the teachers telling students off for spreading such ludicrous rumors, many still seemed to suspect him as a dangerous weapon of Voldemort's and that all along he'd tricked them into believing he was fighting against the Dark Lord. Harry couldn't understand how human beings could be so asinine. He wondered if it was physically _possible _for _anyone_ to be thick enough to buy an idea so obviously delusive as that. And to top the cake off, his breakup with Cho was now tearing through every classroom, corridor, and common room like a killing curse, making him seem not only, dangerous, but insane and heartless as well.

Only a small group of comrades remained loyal to him and they stuck by him throughout the day, comforting him and threatening to hex anyone that dared to advocate the rumors. Dean nearly drop kicked a third year that screamed when Harry accidentally bumped into them; Neville offered to look up plants that grew on you like protective armor against curses; Luna laughed airily at the whole affair and declared that this would make a perfect story for The Quibbler; Seamus, the very valiant knight, kept calling wolf at all the most random times just so that he could find excuses to pin Harry against the wall, shielding him from invisible dangers; and Hermione - well, she was the one with level head and her consoling words helped Harry most in staying sane.

Harry avoided Cho as much as he could; turning around and ducking into empty classrooms when he saw her up ahead in the corridors. He never felt so miserable in his life. The things he'd done had seemed so right at the time, and now everything had flipped one hundred and eighty degrees against him. It was like trying to ford a raging river who's depth was twice your height.

That evening however, well after a dinner that Harry barely touched, things took a turn for the worse and Harry had been thoroughly convinced that it wasn't possible for that to happen. What more was there left that could make his current situation miserable? How much calamity could a person take?

He had got up from the Gryffindor table a little earlier than everyone else and began trudging toward the double doors in low spirits when he heard the familiar voice of Cho calling a name. To his surprise, it wasn't his name. It was Ron's.

Harry only briefly looked up in bewilderment to see Cho approaching Ron who was sitting at the table stabbing at his food moodily, and starting up a casual conversation that he couldn't quite catch. Cho, for some reason was smiling slightly and Ron was staring back at her with a confused frown on his face and he'd stopped murdering his potatoes momentarily to listen to what she had to say.

His curiosity however, didn't surpass his desire to leave the Great Hall as quickly as he could, and so he continued on through the double doors of the Hall and into the corridors with Hermione who had finished up early and had offered to keep him company. Harry, for once, didn't dismiss the proposal to spend a few hours studying in the library when Hermione suggested it. The library was likely to be less crowded than the Gryffindor common room in half an hour's time, and there was nothing better to do anyway.

So he and Hermione hastily made their way back up to the tower to retrieve their books before the rest of the school could finish up on their dinners, and returned to the library on the fourth floor where the only people currently occupying it were Madam Pince and some small gathering of Ravenclaws who looked tiny enough to be in first year.

They claimed a round table in the far corner behind the _Aetiology_ shelf they were certain no one would bother too often and got down to their mountains of homework immediately. Hermione pulled out her Arithmancy book which was thicker than all of Harry's books put together, and Harry halfheartedly decided to get an early start on his five foot-long essay that was due the coming Friday. The properties of various rare and illegal potion ingredients and what made them rare and illegal. Writing five feet of just that was a torturous idea as Harry had only gotten half a foot written during the entire ninety minutes of class that morning. He was now chewing on his lip feeling vexed about what to write next, his hand in his hair that was sticking up in all directions, and a library potion reference book that was open in front of him, providing little to no useful information. Hermione, on the other had, was intently bent over her Arithmancy chart, quill scratching furiously and zooming across the page as if it were a Quick-Quotes quill. He marveled at her rare talent and wondered what propelled her mind to work so diligently and so willingly.

Finally, at five to nine, Madam Pince announced the closure of library hours and they were forced to gather up their belongings to head back to the tower. The Ravenclaws had left long before and they were the only ones heading out the doors as Madam Pince straightened chairs, re-shelved books, and extinguished the lamps all with one wave of her wand.

Harry sighed tiredly and tilted his head from side to side to uncrick the tense muscles in his neck while thinking of going to bed early so he could avoid the common room and the numerous glares and stares he was bound to get if he stayed. He wondered how long the rumors would last and if Luna's father was really going to publish the story in_ The Quibbler_, because if he did, people might actually see how stupid they were being and laugh it off apologetically.

"Well, that was a useful study session, don't you think?" Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts brightly. She had a good-natured smile on her face and looked very pleased with herself. "I got through more than I thought I would."

Harry nodded, even though he felt quite opposite.

They approached the portrait of the Fat Lady and Harry steeled himself grimly as she swung forward to let them through. The common room was as crowded as he expected and when he walked in, a good number of heads stopped what they were doing to look up at him.

"I'm gonna head up already," he muttered to Hermione under his breath, edging away toward the winding staircase on his left and she nodded faintly, looking very annoyed with everyone who was staring.

"Okay, Harry. Don't let this get to you - I'm sure things will hush down by tomorrow. They're bound to get bored with the ridiculous rumors soon enough," she reassured gently. "Good night."

"Yeah, g'night," Harry tried to smile, and then turned to head up the stairs. He let out a sigh of relief when he was out of view from the common room and ascended the rest of the steps at a more heavy-footed pace. Shoulders slumped, he pushed open the sixth year dormitory's door and stepped into the circular room to find that there was already someone in the dorm before him.

Ron was sitting on his bed still in his frayed school sweater and slightly faded slacks with his arms crossed and a pensive look on his face, just like the afternoon a few days ago.

Harry quickly considered backing out of the room again, but he really had no where to go, and then he didn't want Ron to think that he was bothered by his presence; so he resolved to stay, however uncomfortable the air might be.

Ron looked up and Harry could see a small frown spread across his freckled face.

Ignoring him completely, he walked straight to his own bed, dumped his bookbag onto the floor and flopped down onto the mattress wearily.

He was surprised when Ron didn't follow suit. Instead, the redhead turned his body to face Harry, his arms crossing over his chest and his lips pursed.

"You're desperate and pathetic, you know that?" were the first words out of Ron's mouth and Harry gritted his teeth through a faceful of pillow. However, he didn't reply and acted as though he hadn't heard him.

Ron continued on.

"You want to know what your problem is?" _No, not really thanks,_ Harry thought sourly. "Your pride."

Harry snorted loudly.

"Exactly. You and your bloody _I'm-the-boy-who-bloody-lived_ pride. You don't even care about the other people around you, only that you can't tarnish your pride."

Harry rolled over jerkily and sat up slowly.

"And what, _Ron_, would you know anything about me? It's pretty damn rich of you saying that when all you complain about is being shadowed by me in our friendship," Harry replied coldly, glaring.

Ron's face twitched slightly but he kept a cool expression.

"Yeah, you say that because you're the only one in the picture and I'm just part of the background anyway. And not just me, so's everyone else."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded heatedly. "That I'm a completely horrible person inside-out? That I _want_ to be the center of everyone's bloody attention all the time?" He wasn't going to be weak. He wasn't going feel hurt. He definitely wasn't going to cry. "I thought you knew me for who I really was, Ron. You were the only one that could see what my life was all about and accepted me how I was. I've had a pretty crappy life so far, but at least there was you who I knew wouldn't judge me by everyone else's assumptions. But what d'you know? I've been wrong all along."

"Yeah well, I thought about maybe forgetting about this whole thing today, but I changed my mind when I heard what you did. That was really, _really_ bloody fucking low..." Ron said, his voice growing more menacing with each word. "And you did it to keep your bloody pride intact..."

Harry frowned, not having a clue what Ron was talking about.

But Ron immediately quenched his confusion.

"You felt so sorry for yourself, that you just had to go and dump it on a someone else, right? I don't reckon you've any idea what you did to her, do you."

Harry's fingers clenched tightly, fists pressing hard into the mattress.

"Shut up about things you haven't got a clue about, Ron!" he snapped, feeling as if wanted to punch the annoying redhead square in the face. "You're just -"

"Jealous?" Ron intervened, snorting. "I'm not jealous, Harry. Really, I'm not. You're always thinking people are jealous of you. I actually feel sorry for you because there's nothing to be jealous about. And I definitely don't regard your respect for other people! What did Cho do to you, eh? What'd she do to deserve that? Or maybe you thought you were too good for her, is that it?" Ron's nostrils were flared and he looked ready to explode with fire. "Too good for the rest of us fucking, lowly, _common-doers_ -"

Harry nearly let out a scream of frustration and plunged his hand into his pocket to pull out his wand.

Ron's hand instantly snapped out and grabbed his own wand, which had been sitting on the nightstand beside his bed.

They stood up, a good five feet in between them, but definitely close enough to hex each other.

"Can't admit it that I'm saying exactly what you're thinking?" Ron snarled nastily, his fingers white around his wand.

Harry was too furious to say anything, he just had to exercise every muscle in his body not to shout out a stunning hex to shut that uselessly blabbering mouth.

Ron drew himself up, a look of defiance on his face. "Well, at least you don't have to worry about Cho anymore. She's none of your bloody concern and she'll forget about you soon enough. At least _I_ won't treat her like dung, unlike _you_."

Harry's hand faltered. "What?"

"Yeah that's right, she came up to talk to me today after dinner, asking me to tell you that she's completely over you and that she doesn't want you to think that she's a pushover just because you threw her off like that. She said she'd only been trying to get through you to me in the first place." Ron smirked smugly.

Harry's eyes widened.

That of course, had to be a lie.

"That's a bloody lie, and you know it."

"You see what I mean? Your head is so bloated that everything's just _you, you, you, you_! You can't stand the fact that a girl prefers me over you. You think everyone's infatuated with you! It's disgusting!"

"This is bullshit," Harry laughed harshly lowering his wand and stuffing it back into his pocket. "Bloody, bleeding, bullshit. I've had enough."

And he turned and left the dormitory.

I LOVE all of my wonderful reviewers! Thank you thank you thank you thank you!


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